Morning Poem -

Each, a Path

I walk along the path, absorbed in stones, leaves, and petals.

I am paused by a bright red strip.

I bend to see.  It is a stick

of red licorice.

Further along I see another and another, a spread.

Some lie atop each other in asymmetrical patterns, runes.

I imagine the journey of this sticky substance,

from field to factory, dye to box, truck to what.

A man is driving on the freeway with his two young sons,

and is shot dead. Red strips spread.

Random or not, we walk.

Birds fly, overhead.