I started with the hardest
and worked my way down
all the hoary difficulties
I conquered during maturity
in misguided attempts to
make the last the easiest
I followed the trail of
hurdled obstacles even as
I strode the knolls and gentle
swales of paths beaten into
grassy terraces, the smell of
delicate petals and the shine
of glassy brooks flint sparked
by the spring sun in May
calloused palms grown smooth
in baths of oats milk
liquid listless and lavender languid
carried by my ephemeral desire
and shrouded with sumptuous
care the soft sensibilities
of easy speak and effortless
understanding were an open
field to the fierce thorns
of harsher climes and the
ambition of smiling hyenas
with clenched jaws and
broken teeth, their rotted
breath hot and humid heaving
their ululating cry echoing
off cold stone with rough
humor their laughter the
crow’s caw feasting fast on
the soft sensibilities of those
who started with the hardest
and worked their way down.
