Today, tempers rose like the winds
before a storm, but the birds got real quiet and
hushed the squirrels. The leaves shuttered
as if deep in a terrifying dream. Meanwhile,
all around, the world went along peacefully.
Never mind leaf-dreams,
they cannot see the future, only the present.
A storm passes without note; strike three and
I’m out in the fresh cut-lawn air, feeling
like there is nothing else to do, but there is.
Today, I feel like an insect, greedy
for the nectar, even when I smell the insecticide.
I resurrect myself in the goodbyes, the subtle
painless endings, like saying goodbye to the wind.
Today, I tried and tried to make sense
of something I wasn’t meant to understand, and when
I started writing it all down, all I got was black
lines in pasty silicon soup. Insight existed,
but I rushed by too quickly to pay
attention to the weight of the matter.
Today, I passed a tree and a giant branch fell,
while the air stood still. A girl passed on her bike,
the branch hit the ground as I fell into the wind.