Existential Sorrow on the Walk Home

These little patches of mint 

Moments of cool sorrow 

The evening lowers her head 

Eyes of a vacant maiden 

When she wraps me in her naked shroud 

how do we know 

These aromatic secrets 

How do we know we are more 

Than the plastic packages 

The inexpensive expensive cars The bitter petrol dreams 

Streaked in the creek water 

Please tell me 

I am still 

I am still green 

And belong with these 

Contemptuous fingered leaves