THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Ever Morning...

Eyes grasp for shapes in blurring usuality.
Cupboard doors dully tap closed.
A child reads from the cereal box.
Coffee.

The touch of a chair pulled against the floor.
the ink of a newspaper.
A bird dwells nearby announcing.
Pans shuffle.

Sunlit window frame, slanted yet full.
The hum of the new day.
A so subtle perfume emits.
Your robe's hem dances across the tops of your feet.
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