Naive is the weather under the umbrella,
the umbrella holder,
hungry and sick.
if only there was something green in the fridge,
to get fresh,
to be dedicated, able to hold a memory,
knowing what's around the corner.
to labor,
to be empty and full again,
like rivulets of running water,
instead of the paste in my numb stomach.
Bright as blue the storm came,
pure as fresh rain on harsh gusts.
i want it again because i never lose desire,
to be fooled again,
and constantly enchanted,
into being an umbrella.

-cbrander