A Final Bref Double, Slightly Relaxed

SPRING AMBLED BY OUR SIDE

More gray than green this spring too soon undone
By May’s hurried exit. She left without packing,
While June bursts in, taking for herself what’s
Left behind, bouncing on the bed covered in

Roses. Come play, she calls to the rest of us
Hiding behind closed doors, still mourning
Our friend. What will we do without her gentle
Smile and soft touch? She dried our tears when

March lashed out, so cruel. And kissed our cuts
Each time we fell, taking April’s dare to ride
Without training wheels. Impatient June is
Already calling her hot friends. Summer begins

Now. We’re all invited to the party. No crying.
Spring ambled by our side, but summer struts.

One More to Make Up For Last Week

MY SOUL IN STARLIGHT

I wish I lived where stars still fill the sky,
Where night’s true darkest nature is revealed.
And trees stretch tall, uncut by road and wire.
Give me mountain views, and sunsets, and the wild.

Build me there a home far from the crowds.
I don’t need neighbors, just a place to heal.
Let me rest on glacial boulders, dreaming clouds.
Storms batter the adult, but cleanse the child.

My prayers burst into flames as lightening’s fire
Carries them to gods who have no names.
What angels will appear, what ghosts draw near?
How many tempered hearts have they beguiled?

Exposed my soul in starlight truths concealed
From heart and mind, what spirit most desires.

Didn’t Forget, Just Didn’t Bother

LOST

lost in an ancient wood
spirit falls back through time
lives past flash silently
who am I with no name

lost I’ve done all I could
searching the way back home
tangled in memories
why do they look the same

lost in a simple rhyme
following word by word
new paths I write myself
I am the one to blame

what is the likelihood
of escaping this paradigm

I Forgot to Write Yesterday

DEAR MIDNIGHT, STAY

midnight held his breath and slipped away,
closing the door behind him with a soft click
he left me dreaming of a different life,
and I was happy for a moment alone

midnight left the room, left room for day
to slide into my bed and curl around me
easing under covers warmed in darkness
cooling touch on fever, passion lit, love grown

midnight’s love never-lasting, alive
only while I dream. day is death’s chill stabbing
my open heart, no dream, a waking knife
its sun-point sharpened, whet on stolen moonstone

let me sleep, just sleep, dear midnight stay
let me live my dreams, there is no afterlife

Still Stuck On That Storm

IS THIS THE STORM THAT WAKES ME?

Lightening dances in the clouds,
Trees wink in and out of being,
A flash of green and gone.
Wind kisses windows slammed shut.

Is this the storm that wakes me?
I long to feel the thunder,
But it’s timid, barely loud
Enough to hear. It’s not what

Shakes me. The storm surrounds me,
Yet I feel nothing. Stale air,
Hot with my own sweat, safe on
The inside. I wait hours, but

Am unmoved, wrapped in a shroud
I wove from leftover yawns.

Trivial Musing, Extra Trivial

I want to write about last night’s storms. Not the storms, exactly, but my reaction to them—to the threat of them. But I’m struggling. I’ve tried prose and poem, but nothing’s working.

It’s been hot here for two days. In the nineties, which is unusual for May. We’re months away from putting the air-conditioners in, so we’ve been sweating buckets and using window fans to cool the house down as much as possible. Last night, a front came through that finally cooled things down a bit, and with it came thunder storms.

The weather advisories had been pinging my phone all afternoon. When they finally switched to warnings around ten, I rushed around closing all the windows. I was expecting wind-driven rain, so it made sense to close up the house—except that it was sweltering in here, and the storm wasn’t that close yet, and there was a gust line preceding the front that could have pushed all the stale, hot air right out. But I closed the windows.

I watched the lightening show for an hour, standing at a west-facing window, drenched in sweat. No thunder, no rain, just lightening in the distance. Crazy lightening. Huge bolts and bright flashes. And lots of wind. Cooling wind, out there on the other side of my closed windows.

Why didn’t I open them up and catch the air? It’s what I wanted to do, but I talked myself out of it. What if the storm suddenly hit us? I wouldn’t be prepared. Things might get wet.

I stood there for an hour. An hour! All that cool air could have been blowing right through the house. But I didn’t let it. And it’s not because I was afraid of the storm. I love thunder storms! It was something else—a fear of not being prepared? not doing what I was supposed to do? or expected to do? not being able to act quickly enough when I would need to?

Is that really what I was thinking? I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I was sweating. And some ancient conditioning took over from childhood.

There’s a metaphor for my life hidden here somewhere. I can’t quite tease it out yet. Maybe the bref double isn’t the right container for it.

Coming and Going

OUR NEXT HELLO

I watch you walk away, all fight and pride.
My fastest run can’t catch you now you’ve gone.
Young love eloped with laughter long ago.
Find them if you dare and ask them why.

I wish I had a place still at your side.
Together we could search the world to find
Those pieces of ourselves we’ve let escape,
The pieces of ourselves we left to die.

I want you to look back at me and know
I wait for you, still hoping you’ll return.
My mind says let you go, my heart is torn.
My silence holds a space for that goodby.

I will not speak aloud those words. I tried.
Let silence hold instead our next hello.