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

It wasn’t that long ago

I was spinning in front of a mirror

watching my dress float around me

as my toes ignored the gritty floor,

my hair punched my chin,

my belly jumped like first love,

and I didn’t dare laugh at the magic

as I felt the weight of seasons glancing off

my skin, unlike now when I am wearing

every hot summer day and every deep

winter drift like a cloak and choker

in some sophisticated cocktail party

where I don’t know anyone but I have to

mingle to survive.

It feels like I’ve been peeking

from behind a curtain

at most things,

being present and visible

only to my own bumps and scars.

I’d like to sing out loud

but it comes out barely a whisper.

I’d like to greet the world with open arms

but I catch myself clenched and unwilling.

I’d like to take more than a moment

to breathe deep the late summer green,

but my hills won’t wait for me

and autumn will be upon us both soon.

Something slipped between sheets of rain

as I watched wind bend my birch backwards.

I felt the same anxiety as when Tesla revealed trouble with his retinas.

I can relate. I think.

I too am unsure of the shape of reality

in the face of forces we can’t define.

In the name of dreaming, I beg for more

time, more space, and a little understanding.