Mastic Poem by Cee Bea

I stood at the land locked
as sweet honey wheat
tussled without aim or observation
or consequence

the sun…placed like a placard
beaming ever so precisely
agains rich new clouds

if the world is not a stage
I can think time wasted
as bountiful backdrops
seem certain of their role

and I? a collected series
of mind meets mirth
still see myself as a dancer
on occasion, the fisher on others

and the mastic of all I ever knew