Why are you locked?
Are you hiding treasure, secret riddles, obscure relics?
Perhaps a golden chalice, or a vintage vette,
or an old grandfather’s woodworking tools…
The bread is fresh,
soft and crispy.
I can’t help but close my eyes–
surrendering my will to its
steamy spellbinding smell.
The tree outside our balcony is changing,
although the days are still warm.
September steps forward,
and I bid it a peaceful welcome.
Watchful garden cat,
you look so earnest–
I envy your solid ambition.
If I could color everything with crayon,
today, I would choose pink and purple.
Watching the geese fly across the morning sunrise,
hearing their distant honking calls–
wishing I could call back to them in return.
How can something so seemingly mundane reflect
innocent excitement and seem sinister at the same time?