Tell nature that she can’t fit
all seasons into one week.
She’ll laugh so hard that
she’ll make the sun shine on Monday
that she’ll rain tears on Tuesday
that turns into snow on Wednesday
and she’ll start all over again on Thursday
while kids sled on melting snow on green grass
down the hill on Lincoln Drive--
an act of joyous surrender
and you unzip yourself like
the parka you wore for one day
but keep for all seasons.

the Mississippi starts small,
at the headwaters.

A child can cross
stone to stone, almost slipping
into cold water.

Sometimes they do fall,
but stumbling and soaking wet,
they finish crossing.

Now, these blue-gray stones
and clear rippling currents still
sound like their laughter.

Light breaks through
After so many days spent with you
Cigarette burns on the sheets
Empty bottles and old needles accompanied with grief
Expelled a gust of air from my lungs
Feet fall to the floor and i felt high strung
But my heart is quite low
I can't stay here with you I need to go
Not another night
I need a smoke
A plan
A helping hand
Away from this
From you
I need a taste of my old life that I missed
Because this world has got me feeling blue

One day you'll wake up
and find she has covered the entire house
with handmade lace.

It's things like that
that you love about her.
Even though they make it so difficult to get to your car.

Nothing about her has ever been easy.
She is both peace and upheaval.
She is sleeping in white cotton sheets
and putting your car in a ditch.

She smells like pine and sugar cookies,
and she makes you want to catch snowflakes on your tongue;
but she's also the reason you're stuck at home
running out of food to eat.

But after the memories of her,
of frost bitten noses and chapped lips,
of crowded holiday parties, and apple cider that burns your mouth
have all faded away,
you will meet this girl
and her name is Spring.

I need to go home
This isn't home
I need to go home
There's snow
And clear air
And clear eyes and heart and soul
Things die fully
And come back new
Night is night
Day is day
The ground is there
And I can touch it
I can't touch it here
I've tried
Oh how I'm weary of not touching the ground.
And the dead and the earth and the universe
I can touch it all there
I need to touch it again
Or I will die.
My immortal soul will grow old and wither
Just as souls aren't meant to do

I need to go home
My eyes are beautiful there.
I want my eyes to be beautiful again
Even more than I don't want my soul to die

It's time to go home.

She'll get bored with flowers and roses
So I'll give her something exotic
I've felt lonely and toxic
But she defines herself within logic
I can't dodge it
She's too magnificent for me
Not to gaze
And break all the haze
Around me
She just needs a tiara
Along with a purple dandelion
To represent that Minnesota blues
I have inside me
I want her to know
That my corrosion is in her hands
Make me one again

On the Lake’s North Shore
The leaves are quickly turning
Green and brown ignited. Brilliant, blazing, burning
Yellow, orange and fiery red,
An eagle soars high overhead,
Circling the steel blue sky,
While waxwings sing, and
Sea gulls cry, and
Loons laugh at yesterday’s mistakes, and
Whitecaps dance on the ancient lake.
The cliffs and rocks still pounding waves, and
Waterfalls spring from unseen caves.
Cloudy mornings, frosty, still,
The sunrise warms the early chill.
Squirrels hoard their winter store
An autumn day
On the Lake’s North Shore
Phil Lindsey- October 16, 2015

I first noticed my abnormal heartbeat
in Duluth, Minnesota.
Standing across the canal from you
separated by water
and the waves waves waves.
I still swear to this day
that it was your breath I heard
mingling with the hush of water.
The next time I notice my heart
we’re at the hospital.
You tell me to uncross my ankles
and hold out my wrist
your thumb brushing over the more delicate part of its skin
and your stethoscope cold on my throat.
It’s only a
one-two-three
four
before you’re pulling away
my pulse going with you.
I don’t care if I have to live with arrhythmia
live with the pills and the appointments
and the lack of a steady thump thump thump
in my chest.
Just the ghost of the feel
of your thumb on my pulse point
on my wrist
on my neck
curving behind my ear
and my hand on your heart
with your thump thump thump,
will keep my blood flowing.
I’m a girl with a broken heart
and I’m in love with a cardiologist.

Even though you’re
975 miles away
I know you will be
My valentine someday