My panda
a peaceful mountain of bear
heedlessly munching, chewing, savoring
old Tom’s bamboo leaves
seeing the first acorn picked, and sunrise
hearing Nashville blues in a cold, steel town
grinding, swallowing, contemplating
the intent of wild men in valleys, and dark rivers
jaw seizing, a fellow panda on the hill
romantic presumptions, and growing trees
sharing their bounties, trading scents
cherishing, loving, basking
in the remains of immolated specters
ceaseless admiration from golden lands
Inherently empty, yet stuffed on
the sweetness of the stem and leaf,
the warmth of the embrace,
and the truths and fallacies of the world.