It’s a glorious February day

blue skies,

and the morning glory morning is perfect.

I eat pizza from the night before (no need for a big breakfast)

just black espresso, molasses brew.

I’m a suburban bear, hibernating in the sunshine.

The sublime

can’t be known, or understood, if you are worried about work

or your weight, or anything.

It boils down to details, noticing details

like a painting, that has come alive.

Some of us, are not meant to be great

in the usual way

We are decidedly unusual

and if you can appreciate the strange,

you might be strange yourself.

Tensions

weigh on me

like caught dragonflies

in my golfing sweater.

I want them to fly away—not to get stuck there.

I try to shake them loose

they belong above the pond, diving between snapping trout

but they get stuck on me

like dead things, that don’t belong there.

I have been searching for something strange, most of my life

this is due, to my failure to conquer the obvious

How awful, to conquer all, and be obvious

there is no sublime subtlety in that.

Walking over green hills, with a gentle breeze blowing Cat Toolies and clouds

causes me to forget

the train schedule in my mind—harkening back to a different time, when there weren’t trains.

I have been poisoned by things,

though, I’ve tasted sweet fruit

like glistening apricots, dangling next to poison ivy.

If you retain your face of stone

despite weathering

you become harder, covered by toxic plants.

It’s best to be as soft as a child

as wise as an old man

who loves and receives love

who participates in the glorious game.

It’s warm, and the Canadian Geese walk in perfect lines across the fairway

I strike my ball, perfectly

feeling, the course

smelling, the fresh cut grass, and rich soil, mixed with geese guano

I putt,

hearing the sound

of my ball

hitting

the cup.

I plant my flag in the green, like a conqueror

in my imagination.

Purple and Pink hews

divide

planes and exhaust fumes

Nature’s design

like the Sistine chapel

How many times have I played this course?

I watch a mother and her son

I see myself and my mom, like it was yesterday

I wait, while the boy tees off.

I lay-down, sinking into the soft earth, reading poetry

I am perfect

like the day, I am living in.

As beauty fades, the sunset catches fire

I join a retired man

“Are you going to watch the Superbowl?” He asks.

“Hey, that’s why nobody’s out here!”

“What planet are you living on?”

“My own, I guess.”

He finishes his round,

and I walk on

alone

into the darkness.

I picture the flag, and put it within two feet.

I’m back, if only for a moment.

It’s a sublime shot in the dark. Nobody can take that away from me.

And the more often I do it, the better able, I can leave the things of this world behind.

I have something

seldom

understood.