It is a rambling paragraph of sentences
Made up of long goodbyes
Punctuated by hello.
There can be no intense reflection
On the things cast aside
If you want it to flow,
And get on with the next chapter.
Some liken it to drinking the desert,
All sand and cactus needles,
A glass at a time.
Parched, pinched with a wicked thirst
Begging for a drop of water
Like a hobo for a dime.
Behind a crate of depression apples.
I see the garden amid the lizards and dunes,
The snake still striking at my heel,
Interrupting my stride.
My friends say it’s mirage made hallucination,
Or maybe a chemically induced trance,
Or simple righteous pride.
But I can see clearly the tree of life.