March 12, 2009
It is like a pumpkin
Ready to be eaten.
Just the right season, just the right time.
I'm already drooling at the smell and touch.
It has a roof of thick pines,
Protecting the treasure.
It is like the Arizona sunset,
Multiple layers widening over the mountains.
Its holes are the caves of the Caribbean,
The homes of the new ones
Inviting me to peer through like my
Love's garden fence.
It has a river flowing
From the mountain springs;
Turning and twisting
Through the rocks,
Traveling within the cracks.
It has yellow waterfalls,
Rushing to a new kingdom.
My pineapple's a New Mexican mesa.

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