An owl from 1930 watched

as I sank my teeth into an apple

and the juice dropped onto my chest.

I was watching a spirited joust

between shadowy limbs and antennae,

not caring to find a winner on the field.

A frog was busy curating mini bridges

so the lily pads would be joined into a

utopian fantasy with plenty of flies for all.

The master craftsman sent clouds

so we could all shiver beneath the power

of timeless summer and faulty memory.

Comparing height to an 80’s lyric

and my heart takes an extra flip

picturing the way

the bassist strummed and glided

like a heron with eyeliner;

I’d even take a cup of coffee

instead of my usual tea

in a classic ceramic mug

if we met at a diner and laughed

about the times we only imagined

instead of the times in between

when we didn’t know better-

that there was someone

who would get the correlation

between dinosaur and fern,

a gentle unraveling of eons

that leads us to value field and forest

as currency for a moment of understanding.

 

 

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