I'm supposed to be here today,

my attention engaged in some mundane pursuit,

but my mind meanders along other paths,

plucking new thoughts from the blooms on the wayside.

I sometimes receive glances from others,

subtle reminders that I should be here and now,

participating in their moment,

but the idea of a desert breeze playing across my skin

as I sit perched in my personal eyrie

seems much more important.

Much like how the lyrics of a poem still echo in my ears,

though I've already forgotten

whatever it was you said just now.

My apologies, but I'm busy trekking though a primeval forest,

and the strong perfume of the pine trees

has consumed me.