note(s) to self

the quietest, grayest
and most pensive time there is--
cinnamon, wind-brisked hair,
naked-tree nostrils
all swish leaves
and gaze on lilting breaths.

time to read, time to read!
time and time and times to
appreciate or mourn or fret--

but ah those
full lungs crystallize,
while swirls of pure
fluidity follow the eventual
and gradual deflation.

stark, massive, brittle woodposts
jut everywhere,the gray negative
space an endless exercise
in the futility of exercises.

and though thorns still
protect, a thick walk's
feasibility-- rejoice! carve
paths! plan a summer sojourn!
uproot privet and poison
ivy! smell the moist, dark earth
as one would a lover's sex.