The Persimmon Tree

It’s impossible to know what I want.
Something like a paradox would
occur if I ever found it. I catch
glimpses of it in my dreams like
you do with money on the sidewalk,
or something with teeth in the woods.
I’m always too slow to catch it though,
or if I do I never remember it once I wake
up.

I don’t understand how the world works,
and I never have. I try to think about it
sometimes, and the experience is similar
to someone with no training taking off
the face of his watch and trying to
observe the complicated functions of
each gear. Maybe I just need to buy more
books. That would make me happy right?

When I was a kid I liked to swim in the
creek by my grandparents house. It was
quite difficult at first because the water
was always so cold, but once you forced
yourself to get used to it things weren’t
so bad. I think that might be life’s best
quality. We can make the best out of anything.

Now that I’m reminded of my grandparents
I remember they always had lots of cows that
lived on their property. They only bought the kind
with black fur because they thought they were
the most beautiful. Sometimes my grandmother
would take a long stick and shake the branches
of the persimmon tree sending berries falling
all around, and the cows would come and lap
them off the grass with their tongues.

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