The built-in solution of every morning,
my reader of tales,
singer of every song to me,
to the world,
it matters not, as long as I hear your voice,
remember the fattened future of our life.
My man is a pumpkin carver,
a perfect lawn trimmer,
a solution finder.
I am his admirer of perfect jack-o-lanterns,
viewer of perfectly trimmed lawns,
and full of problems to be solved.
We eat lemon ice, falafel and pide together,
we taste the salt water of the Red Sea,
we smell the charm a woods can elicit,
hemlocks and red oak.
Are there perfect trees?
Are there perfect men?
(November 1, 2000)
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