(Series Cannabis and Creative Cognition.
Ref: Leafly.com “Sour Nuken”)
Well perhaps naked is too strong a word:
my moccasins saved my blushes.
The south garden, under my jackpines,
was no more a garden
than I was naked:
we were both clothed in the chill light
of a soaring Autumn moon.
And the song of the pines
spoke to the pagan in my genes,
telling me all to be known
is enthroned in this light
and sung by the west breeze
with promises of renewal.
And if there were more to be said,
it would be stylized by my outstretched arms
embracing moonlight
on a vibrant hill
overlooking the Atlantic,
just down the silver reach.
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