what is my worth?
she asks me, a good idea from the shower, she says.
she struggles too, with depth, an eagerness to know
both of us
pulling clothes from the line, sandy feet
shuffle on the marble rooftop
nothing, I smirk
the easy answer, my attitude, my honesty, my pride
there is no value, no real worth, inside my moments
it’s all just now, anyhow
no different am I from the tree just beside
she has no leaves, no blossoms, no bark, yet is
holding tight to the ground, yet gives
shade for the man in gray, offers
view for the bush-tailed chipmunk, a
perch for the pigeon pair I saw mating once, a lustful quickie on a pillar, silent
picture for the neighbor servant
girl wearing red
who am I but the dust that flies
into my child’s eyes, my own
belonging neither to me, nor life itself
able to die more quickly than
one takes, chooses, a life
it’s all a dream, I fear, I feel
jaded as the years drag on
Is awareness always so solemn?
I’ll ask her that, I think
