I am lost to the race, off course
to pause among the tree frogs
headed home to flower pots
after a night on the window glass
below the porch light
ambushing moths. Or the quail
bailing from the grapefruit tree
at first light to awakening titters
before scanning for hawks.
There is no itch for riches
or the prizes advertised
at the Finish Line.
drycrikjournal 