| I sit at building 38 wearing my roots shirt, and wait in half contentment for an hour until my next class. People walk past me and I occasionally look at them to see if some unique quality is apparent. I see a mountain I want to climb but I sit here at building 38. I roll up my legs� covering to experience warmth. I shade my eyes with the leaves of a Western Sycamore. I whisper away my thoughts to the wind. I wait for a muse to wake me up. |
| A bee lands on my left toenail, the one painted in the likeness of an emanating orb. Not so sweet a flower as the mirage would suggest. But driven by distraction the bee pushes on. To see a flower and seek the nectar To be the bee and not the evergazing, everwaiting tree. |
| I sit at building 38, parts 1 and 2 |