I draw a leaf floating,
one of many in a light rain
of color that pools in circles
stirred by breezes
on lawns like Arlington
or click
to black and white
blue oaks wrapped in the first
upcanyon scent of the Pacific,
sheets of dry leather leaves
you can hear hit the ground
or click
to the sleek machine’s
sterile perfection, add accessories
to flawless logic
like jewelry to ideals
to imprint in my mind.
‘Click to toggle’,
computer talk—
I think I know
what it means.
drycrikjournal 