of orange marshmallows in the sky,
of tickling pinpricks of drizzle, with the summer ground and few fallen rotting leaves
giving us the smells of coming Autumn— thick and sweet with dew
and distantly crisp.
It’s another thoughtful-feeling night
of really just feelings, of trying to find with inward eyes, that which ever eludes me.
A place for Atman or Him himself— a path of Chi,
of solace inside my tumbling mind.