have you ever found yourself pacing
with a coffee in hand
a seagull on deserted sand
searching for bread crumbs

and then found yourself tasting
a wrinkly apple with the texture of corn
the skin of a baby girl that never was born
naked and open to vultures for gnawing

perhaps you put yourself there
as a way to escape
a widower painting and repainting the same landscape
finding neither peace nor anger in the muttering of winter trees