You bring back,
memories when the skies were black,
shut the lights;
Everything black, wet everything.

Piano keys; soft sound of those strings
unveiled many blunders.

I’ll say thank you, every day of my life
As to when you arrive,
I’ll look in the sky, and won’t ever forget
to give you back,
a smile.

Somewhere, someplace
I lost my way along
the way, searching for
the extraordinary
forgetting the more simple
things, the everyday ordinary
like the words for a bird’s
heartbeat, the color of water
in an estuary, the calligraphy
of the grocery list, an apostrophe
like an old man picking cotton
a woman long forgotten
drowned in the vagueness
of the ocean, a blind poet
comparing the sun to a rose
light slipping through blinds
hidden behind silk curtains
burdens born by mothers
worn and weary, left alone
the name for vines that grow
on silent children’s stones.

They make their way through the crowd.

Beneath the sky amber in the last sun
the retrieved spark steers their feet
to explore the gorgeously festive town
smelling of discovery at every turn
of people and shops and sellers
and food tempting to be tasted
women too lovely not to be noticed
houses illuminated like light is free
flying as in a dream long in the coming
but arrived too glorious for any regret.

The younger when a few paces ahead
stops so the other could catch up
always remembering the six years
matter much in the count of speed.

The sky above grows older and paler
but their blistered feet feel no pain
from the four hours of rewinding years
glistening as night dew in their eyes.

The trees do sing, he told me.

I didn’t believe him but, I listened.

The wind flowed through the trees,

And it hummed a soft tune.

Then all the birds followed with small chirps.

The light of the sun beamed through the leaves,

As sweet creatures came out to share their song.

Foxes, bears, insects of all kinds.

Every moment was an orchestra, filled with calls and whistles.

A moment of silence would be frightening,

But a gust of wind would start the song once more.

I turned to him and said,

The forest sings. He smiled.

Where mothers wail,
family, friend, and foe
gather in last respect
and jovial sadness,
greeted by whiskey and tea, in the aftermath of moths wearing black vails, stepping on flytrap petals,
walking down the aisle of the pallbearers wedding.

Ahead of me
In the woods
At dusk like
A big cat
With big eyes,
The future turns
Away and runs
Up the switchbacks
Without a sound
Each paw pressed
Into the spine
Of my anxiousness.

I find myself chasing the tail of the meteor that was once my rock.