Eastward bound
by the words
I spoke
contracts that cheat their
convenient guilt

free from any
idea
or plan
that simple devotion
need be redeemed

my orchid bloomed
this morning of my departure
its inviting folds
thick and
ripe and vain

care and feeding
rewarded
to yet another’s eyes
radiant and oblivious
and temporary

the slap of Philadelphia
cold, and the thought
of hothouse flowers
and currency spent

bound Eastward

© Tom Watters  3/4/07