eyes still sleep blurred and
mind empty of dreams except for
the flash of red so brilliant
the partial curve of vintage
Volkswagen hood gleaming above
gravel at graveyard's edge
someone reminded me that
my mother saved bread crumbs
with a copper crumb catcher
polished but worn from years
in Brooklyn at her mother's
table, tea cart, for city birds
living in alleyway nests above
concrete and clinging to brick
singing city songs long before
we moved to the country
leaving family and friends for
new birds, a brook, the woods
in my mind, it is all so clear
so unforgettable, so seamed into
the very cells of my being, no aisles
no old paths nor new roads leading
here or there saying stop, yield,
no right on red will ever take
me faraway from those I love nor
from the quirky kitchen stove
described by one as physics defying nor
from the hearts who have touched mine
nor the ears and minds who listened
such priceless joy and laughter shared,
all of this is living at its best
I cannot really want for more
having held so many stories
and yet, there is no denying
I welcome each minute, each hour
each perfect cup of morning