Sometimes we are a foggy day
a brindled mist that hangs like a beaded curtain
across the doorway of the altered bikers from down the street
and walking through us requires a
machete of caution and silence and
a flashlight of sixty-percent honesty

Sometimes we are a Thanksgiving break
a respite from the weight of responsibility and
a monster dustbunny of anticipation that tumbles from
beneath the bed requiring
a broom of clarity and Potter-esque frenzy and
a damp paper towel of decisiveness.

Sometimes we are a banana
Spring-green on the precipice of perfection
only to tumble into the ravine of
only good for banana bread or compost
a sliceable bite of tropical gratitude and
a sticky sweet batter of hostage taking.

Sometimes, not often enough,
I reflect upon the void you fill which
I never imagined existed until it was filled
like concrete between flagstones
Grand Canyons made plateaus by
a surprise and a sigh and a homecoming.