an on-again, off-again glimpse

at a psyche crafted for 1938

but due to delays in construction

built in 1971 (a bit haphazardly)

 

consisting of fresh sidewalks

with gleaming buses

shops with gadgets and plenty of food

pressed pants and handmade sweaters

quiet little pearls around the neck

as a reminder of a wild sea in the beyond

 

clicking shoes and warm musical notes

stories pouring forth like waterfalls

a great big sky over a glorious meadow

just beyond town limits

where darkness is allowed to germinate

 

is sunscreen and cinnamon

with zucchini bread

and roadkill on the side.

We wear sweaters and shorts

and go wading in potholes.

Pumpkins and watermelons

are carved with equal zeal

in valleys between lush green hills

that are starting to go to seed.

From the porch, I can hear cows

lowing their farewells to the crickets.

I washed my face this morning

while the sun peeked over the hills

spilling a hazy light over the grass

The roses look a little battered

from the storm, petals like fresh wounds

scattered over a sleepy boxer

I rinsed my cereal bowl

without remembering eating,

daydreams taking the place of awareness

Smoothing my dress and slipping on shoes

ahead of a day full of a bloated calendar

with little room for summer breezes

I think I’m on a track of loss

where I feel millions of others nearby

without touching or stopping to breathe

Sunset was surprisingly fierce,

a reminder of many nights

spent decoding languages,

ignoring dozens of calculations

surrounding me like summer rain,

blowing sideways and with much noise.

 

I thought it might hurt to look,

so I watched colors run on the wall.

It was like the old shadows we made

and it sounded like a hymn of crickets.

new lights

over old grass

as the axis shifts

summer gasps