a recipe in her own hand for cocoanut cake
i could sure go for some fresh poet cake
bake me a cocoanut cake emily

the words are so familiar 
flour eggs cocoanut cream of tartar 
butter sugar milk makes one half the rule

i can bake the cake but not taste yours 
but reading  your poems i taste
your words mind voice

i can live with that
on a bright day 
in manhattan

#118. Four Piekus

December 21, 2009


Fish may be serene
like they have all the answers.
But they can’t eat pie.


Rain falls steadily.
Where did the cicadas go?
Cherry pie beckons.


Autumn leaves are sad.
Pie enters tummy.


Search deeply The Endless.
Do you have room in your life
for pie?

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