…Like one tenderly hushing water in her lap Elemental peace No place to go No more to be …Like the ocean in the background of a photo on a warm spring day belying rage and the random possible thrash--
at all guilty ******* in her path Toss in the next sentient soul who should happen to pass within range who should have seen who should have known what a storm could do….
Moody in the aftermath and sorrier than rain With the tide in retreat grumbling excuses Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot Waiting for night to sleep it off
to heal the rifts cleanse the shame
Rising yellow, bright— and
“What the hell happened, here?!”
Her hair a winter’s tragedy of trees upside down— No wait— the wind has put her right to ragged random branches swaying, wet with intermittent hues of dark and silver caught in collar, flying inelegant and free at the shoulders of the levee tossed and softening shyly sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree All perspective changes…
if you watch a while—
She’ll raise her eyes into the sunset to catch an eagle entering flight
…and then you might…
She looks like— a pudgy robin querying grass mud soaked that hides the fire of her breast tugging at a worm more than half her length “I will feed them, **** you! Give it up, you son of a snake!” _____
...Don’t miss her hour of music though for anything Encroaching darkness from the rooftops she listens to the hearts she breaks
Remember this in winter she can give but she will take it out on February when you’re longing for her
Only male robins do the singing; females do the choosing.
There are very few recent photos of me. Thus this poem.