I dropped my new shoes in the stream, thinking perhaps
They would get there before me, like two drowned Jews
Trundling along the seabed to Jerusalem. My immigrant parents lost patience and thrashed me.

Drawing draws us in-
volving us further and stretching
attention it sketches reaching

I expect the holy of holies must be 
to watch machinery making machinery,
no? Begin with the others and do what they do, 

Watching a boneless nymph’s 
half-hearted resurrection
from a spout in the pavement

Island traffic slows to a halt
as screeching gulls reluctant
to lift heavenward

Memory near oblivion. Far death
the voice grinds and vibrates and trembles
the wind denies

to you
the view
to me

Heads up, false friends use familiarity as camouflage. 
In the source language deciduous might be confused with apathy, 
but nothing could be further away from desidia than the timed impermanence of leaves. 

Morning walking is like a hospital room
The getting up and feeling sorry for sleep
Putting my fat body into a cab and going to the hospital