I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.
And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.
Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.
Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.
A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.
The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.
must have been a thousand years old,
those scars on her hand
when she forgot her looks and
her dreams ran out the door
that yellow still makes her dizzy
and her tongue still prefers what’s fizzy
maybe her soul hasn’t lost its spark
maybe she hasn’t lost her life
little white buildings on my right, as I
make the ground ache when I walk.
earth hard, unlike weeks before when
life sprouted up towards the sun.
barren forked trees on my left,
as pale gray clouds leave me
breathless for a moment cause
the air hurts to breathe.
silence, as I go past the frozen mess
that was left before me as I begin my
waiting for the world to act alive again.
once they removed their monstrous
parasols and offered the sun with all its
glory, I was able to see for miles,
see past the stains and all its gory.
walk past my long-limbed friends,
feel their gentle boughs crack upon me
wonder if that west window still
offers the view of diamonds and trees.
then without time to think, to blink,
they decide my time in the warmth
is done. parade their parasols atop
of me – flaunt like they won. close my
eyes quick and capture the burn, bid
the orange blaze to stain my gaze for days
weep over how much I’ll miss the sun.
let my eyes stay here and play awhile
before you go away. let me marvel at how
your light shifts shape, your amber haze so
addicting. let my eyes stay here and
play awhile, before you fly right out the
door. leaving your golden smile, your aura,
your everything – helpless on the floor
startled yet grateful that I saw your face
the other night. I haven’t seen it since
1988. kind eyes, more white than
blue. slow to smile, but when you did you meant
it. what a gift to have seen you in that
man, a stranger, walking past. walked slow in
that fog of numb I entered in hoping
the illusion would last, but looked back to
see you walking away. tears pushed their way
through, I had no choice but to feel them. felt
a breeze grace the nape of my neck, close my
eyes and continue – startled yet grateful.