Poem: Why I Left
And these things are alluring.
The green olives floating in their brine
like tumid grapes, and the velvet red wine
enveloped by fragile crystal,
with a name I canβt pronounce.
But they cannot stifle my savage yearning
to ride the elevator back down to earth,
run headlong into green pasture,
sprawl upon the soil and the susans,
and pull the blanket of sun and birdsong
all the way up to my chin.