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Spent all day indoors—work, meeting, class, other absurd things.
I can't imagine how many wonders I missed today, how many miracles I wasn't there to witness.

Birds singing, despite the rain. A mosquito, hungry, emerging from its hiding spot, so thankful for the unexpected heat, the moisture in the air, the bodies. The child splashing, as it should, in a clear and shimmering puddle.

What a shame to not hear the grass today, to not hear the whispers of trees with a few lingering leaves.
I'll have to pay closer attention tomorrow. From early January.
It's a cliché, almost,
daffodils springing out of snow.
But does that mean that
it's not worth noticing,
maybe even marveling at?
I cannot be angry
with the nameless songbird who woke me
long before the sun rose
with his clear and confident voice,
the first one of the day.
I cannot be angry with him, I do think though,
that I may learn something from him.
They’re placing eight traps in the basement they told me,
those tall indifferent men who are, whether I like it or not,
doing their job so well.
Yesterday morning I heard you clamoring about in my cupboard,
looking for breakfast and
somewhere dry to eat it as we all do. I can’t blame you.

When the traps are set and the hardworking men
have gone home, I like to think I’ll step
quietly, kindly, into the crawl space,
very damp and home to all sorts of small, hungry,
furry, spindly, and important things
such as yourself.

I like to think that I’ll take those traps set with so much care
and toss them right in the garbage bin—
come inside, any and all,
ants, roaches, rats, it’s far too cold outside!

I like to think I’ll do this, and yet—
you can’t blame me, I’m only human—
I’ll keep food off the counter, I’ll keep my house
a little colder than I should,
I’ll make friendly conversation with the men
who now come once a week
to make sure the traps are, like we all are,
doing their job.
A bit of a longer one, kind of an experiment. Trying to figure out how to coexist.
Tyler Lockwood Dec 2019
I told you a year ago
while we were buried somewhere
in the mountains, I'm not sure which ones,
that I believe in magic

and you didn't say so but
I think you silently agreed—
how could you not?

You too watched the sun climb from behind
the mountains overlooking us,
and heard how joyously the birds sang when it did.
It's been a year since that weekend. I don't think I'll ever forget.
Tyler Lockwood Dec 2019
I've spent hours, probably,
strolling the same streets,
walking the same trails seeing
just house quiet my feet
can possibly be on three inches
of dried up leaves,
wondering what the doves,
what the wrens are saying
so loudly, so charismatically to each other
and it's a wonder that
one hasn't said to me
"why do you need to know
what it is that we're saying,
is it not enough to know that
we're saying it at all?"
keep looking for you on top of mountains and just find birds instead
Tyler Lockwood Dec 2019
I don’t know if I’ll ever tell anyone
About how we fell asleep
Together for the first time in
Two months how
Even after I turned over on my side and
You turned onto your stomach
Because it’s just more comfortable
That way, we kept our feet
Tangled my toes beneath yours

And we may have stayed like that all night
But I’ll never know
I slept far too soundly
who is it?
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