Three Lies and a Truth

We live in a world where some lies sink

to their knees in the bottomland. Others

unsheathe wings, lift and ferry their seeds, drift

up like the down of angels. My mother believed

selling vacuum cleaners and eternal salvation

were both honorable. I agree. It doesn't matter

if you're slicing limes for your fancy gin or tossing

the rinds under the porch to ward off feral cats,

you can still sever what you need the most.

These days, it's the need that interests me.

Not once have I told the kind of lie that flew away.

Like pine sap on fingers, mine have fused and clung,

tacky, awkward. And sometimes you just don't know

what you don't know. For years I said I was in love

with windows but it turned out what I loved was light.

To be honest, I'm in it for the tomatoes and the flowers.

I can't go on harvesting carrots in the rain forever.

Where the road forks right toward the meaning of life

and left toward cheese and crackers, I go left. And

in the end we will die like the cedars, wet, with cold feet.