Vanilla, do you remember the pleasure?

Vanilla, do you remember the pleasure?
The kind taste of softly regarded fruit,
the pleasing joy made easy and demure
by dainty flowers cast of sun and root?

This delicious honey overwhelms–
“Peace,” I whisper and drink the embrace.
Toss our weapons aside and accept our new alms–
fresh melons and berries picked without haste,

fish torn from the spume by warring women
armed with old rods and ocean tangled hair.
Sun baked bodies begin to knit and mend.
Our pleasure rests on accepting the dare.

A new life at the end of a dangerous road
finding new happiness in our abode.

Alchemy

Some part bitter root of regret
grown too long
in rocky soil with gnawing grubs.

3 parts sour Lemon, 2 parts Sweet Grass–
mixed well to taste.
Always pleasing,
despite pain to fillings and gums.

1 handful of Constance,
in full bloom
always found under covers
even during the harshest storms

Cook over moderate flame
with occasional passion
and vigorous stirring.

Serve.

Some words on the death of our dog

Our dog died brief days ago,
following the second seizure;
almost routine after three months.
Named Katarn (yes after that Katarn)
a sweet Black Lab, locally picked
affectionately labelled Nob-Head
before he was associated with the stars.
Short a pair of shoes, one mattress,
and a signed copy of Redwall,
but stealth licks on knees
and wags for looks softened the sting.
Belly rubs brought distorted lips,
all teeth and tongue–
he was happy to be loved.