By your account

I am a tumbleweed

of a spider web

on the back lot

of your perception.

Every breath

I have taken

has shuffled my attention

shiftlessly along

across a vast patchwork desert

of personalities

filled with upstanding cacti

of positions

and dried river beds

of issues long gone.

From where

in the heartland

between the distant ridgelines

of birth and death

that I have crisscrossed with you

both in the heat

of the high noon day

and in the hearth

under a new moon dark sky

have you come to here

and now to say,

“Seems like

no act of kindness

went unpunished?”

As left-handed compliments go,

is this beauty

is in the eye

of the beholder?