Disposition

Sun-soaked in the summer grass
Under the boughs of the apple tree
My dark skin looks mottled in the shade
From how the light slips down between the leaves
I’ve spent many days lying there
Feet pointed upward at heaven’s frontier
Eyes watching the skies of a windless day
I think of nothing in the one-track fashion of flowing water
Yet somehow I think of everything honey-slow
Each empty, blissful thought trickling down one after the other
Sliding by and gone before I have the mind to remember
And so I let them slide by without lament
Winter’s frigid snow is nothing but a distance thought in a cynical mind
So here I lie, untroubled and free in July’s desert-warm womb
Utterly lost in the bliss of life