Dark cherry rests
Upon the heart left to know

The realness of the world
Beyond open doors,

Beyond the softness of the
Light pouring through

Stained glass.

There is nothing and also
Everything out there

Beyond the familiarity
Of the tartness that sleeps

Within wounds.

Fingers like fiddleheads,

Weak knees like

One-thousand-year-old

Trees,

Justice in a life lived long—

Making the wear and tear

Worth it all.

I will not heed the laughing rain

As it bankrupts the solid ground
Beneath my shadow.

I can write in my mind that I am
Autonomous

And able to sling from my boots
The mud
It's attempting to entomb me in.

The chortles are nothing more
Than a sickly breath.

I am done listening to complaints
As it attempts to dissolve me.

I will not heed the desperate rain.

A thick
Blue comforter
Is like
An inviting ocean,
Soft
And ready to
Sweep you away
To places
Beyond what your
Waking eyes
Allow.

I would rather have rainfall
Instead of snow.

The presence of snow
Reminds me of hard work
In the early morning.

My spine cannot take
The weight of heavy snowfall

But then again,

The rain makes it hard
To drive in the dark while cars
And streetlights send me their
Eye-cutting prismatic shards.

I think

I'd still rather be led astray
By the rain.

We have left orange peels
In places we do not want
Our cats to go.

If only they would stay off
The kitchen counters
And stop scratching at
The fragile bedroom door.

The orange peels help

But the curious boys
Are not the only ones who
Dislike the citrus smell.

A scarecrow spits
Sunflower seeds

In hopes of meeting
New friends,

But they do not show—
Not for the scarecrow,

Not for the seeds,

And his tears cannot
Be wiped away—

The ropes are much
Too tight

And the crows desire
Hardier cords.