i may not like the Kool-Aid Man, but as i have aged, i have learned to respect him

yesterday was
root and berry,
leaf and flower.
today is
coffee beans grown
in Guatemala,
roasted in Brooklyn.
a handmade mug
from Vermont,
a small wooden table,
in Alaska.
soon, this
very home will
dematerialize. it will
still exist,
its imperceptibly swaying
structure and
the quiet yearning of
exhalations emitted
while it allowed me
inhabitance, but
it will no longer wear
the moniker of “home”.
that will drift
and float down
to the docks,
on to a fiberglass sailboat
born in the same year as i.
but today is
not yet even today
and tomorrow’s sailboat
is no more than a muttering
on an otherwise windless
day. today
steam rises from a
handmade mug.
caffeine commingles with
cortisol, breath persists
post lungs in jeweled corners
of a framed window.
snow makes intermittent appearance
in the gray cloak
of our swaddled sky.

these words,
only meat on the bones
of my existence,
so i write form to
morning, until it

Japonski Island. Sitka, Alaska. April 2021

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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