on the skinny path

take a bite on the sun side c says about the apples we are
picking and then all we hear is
crunching, warm juice crisp bite,
and i have to shield my eyes from the bright
to look at everyone

when i get an immediate burst of grape smell
like juice or sweet
wine
while walking along the forest edge
and looking closer i see the clusters of small fruits fermenting

virginia creeper flushed
beet red and i’m tiptoeing around the
poison ivy leaves peaking out pockets of
yellow,
on the skinny path to the
swimming hole
for the second time in one day

things/ways to make a home

how I am struck
with tenderness towards the
arrangement of objects
that i’ve just arranged on the
small white shelf of a
small white bookcase,
as i step back to look at how it appears from
further away

a bell, a glossy brown seed of a lucuma fruit, a rusty metal figurine of kokopelli, a watercolor of a purple cloud, a letter, handkerchief, poem, feather, harmonica, a shell

how i am looking at the list I made four days ago: things/ways to make a home,
feeling good that i had done many (if not all?) of the things i had written in just a few hours, but wondering if they are actually enough

                  make some kind of arrangement of sentimental objects
                  write every night
                  arrange special lighting (candles?)(good lamps)
                  have a meditation spot/writing spot
                  hang up poems/ art
                  ferment some vegetables

the way the tiniest piece of dried sage
burns in the new room
in the new house
and i gently wave it around the scattered piles of clothes whose places i haven’t yet found