Old and New

A road, not much of one,
cleared through the woods.
We'll build at the end,

spare the coconut trees,
view of the mountains.
We'll end our days here:

my expendable studio
for writing and painting;
every room alive with

her pruned plants, old
and new growth learning
to love her. An efficient

kitchen, plenty of counter
space, chopping and slicing,
kneading experiences

with pinches of panache,
natural now like riding
a bike, though she never

learned. Not so important
anymore, part of the day
the way youth longed to be.