As National Poetry Month winds down

haiku, too, takes a snooze upon some writing about a blessed memory.  Only later the question arises, What's for dinner?

The mountain sees itself for the first time

and admires its reflection.  When a salad looks at itself, what does it see?  Which ingredient does it recognize first?  Is it true, poems are partial to prepositions & the particulars of gender?

Eyes & ears

All that's necessary to take in the day.  A conversation.  Eavesdropping, of course.  An underbelly of spinach & a memory of raspberries.  See & hear and words will follow.  And if this is not in an act of eavesdropping, well, you'll find a poem by noon.

The surreal is palpable

yet dreamlike.  It bends to the desires of water.  And memory.  Ask any fish.  Ask any poem.

And a dog in the background

doesn't disrupt or derail the majestic beauty of these bearded irises.  Their composure makes them immune to any barking disturbance.  Fragile & strong commingled.  A perfect balance like the perfectly crafted martini.  Vodka, of course.  With a twist.  Soon it will be a good friend's birthday
with poems aplenty & gestures to grow on.  Perhaps, Goldfish the hue of pollen.  

Carrots have always been stars in any dish

Especially when multi-color carrots are given center stage.  You never forget the first time you cut into a purple carrot.  Rewarded again by color.  A dish of sautéed multi-colored chopped carrots with walnuts, basil, garlic, black pepper, olive oil & the slightest drizzle of Balsamic vinegar.  Sight for sore eyes.  May all poems see into themselves this vibrantly.

Sky's perspective

and the yucca's four directions.  That sums it up.  Lunch will be outside.  Perhaps a poem will be written -- a petite poem depending upon the hour.