She was
footprints traced in sandy waters
sunflower fields
bloomed in thorns
thunderstorms swept
in salty air
Her spirit twinkled
of northern lights
flirting with a million acres
of honeydew blossoms
She was
the magic
that he adored

Rain poured all night until sky revealed a chilled morning
notably warmer than winter's frost- jacket weather at most.
The sun rose ever higher, blinding white and warming
land, locals, and floaters alike, long frozen to the bone.
The smell of grass' rapid rush to shape light to energy fuses
with the air still heavy and thick with the weight of the lake.
Yet, evening spirals in orange to pink to purple until towering
shadows overhang, plunging the streets into early midnight.
Relentlessly the concrete canopy floods every surface, hail batters,
bass rumbles follow with illumination of unadulterated power.

It unmistakably feels like a home renounced to a deceived body,
with it rears fears of past: confinement, subjugation, mistreatment,
but it is not home.

I am home now. It doesn't matter who that upsets.

I find
A rhythmic beat
To the pounding
Upon my rooftop
And as the thunder shakes my walls
My thoughts fade
Into the darkness
Of the clouds outside