Following No Rules

Poem By RIC BASTASA like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there

you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall

no one has gone there yet
in your wild

a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more

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