Familiar Cycles
Late August bears canicular days.
Vertical rays beat down.
My head bends forward,
seeking the shade of my own shadow.
Once luminous eyes now fading,
Fight off the unequaled glare of the most radiant star.
Saturated air rests heavily all around me.
I labor to bring forward a virgin breath.
Knowingly season succeeds season.
October beckons,
with reticence I step forward.
After all, fall is not the dead of winter.
December glacial times are certain.
Cutting wind bites at my essence.
Roof icicles hang in my mouth.
Apple crisp air encircles all that I know.
Frozen shut eyes blink open, drawn curtain are raised.
Glorious light abounds.
Enveloped in a giant gentle hand,
my heart butterflies again in an embryonic March.
Cloudless
Feverish summer days,
find grasshoppers sun-sitting on geraniums.
Hummingbird wings pulsate, sip candied nectar.
Lazy tomato plants bend heavy with fruit,
unhindered by wire cages and cotton lines.
Watermelons wander, tendrils reach out, latching onto everything in sight.
Feathered aviators gather at the feeder.
Sunflower seeds fall away in haste,
allowing unfazed doves to peck away under their feet.
A vault of azure heavens surrounds me.
The cloudless sky beckons.
I lean into it,
for one moment I am a cloud in the cloudless sky.
Sand Walking
Sand walking in my father’s footsteps I lost my footprint.
My stride small, I had to leap to reach those footfalls.
Even then, try as I might, my feet never filled his tracks.
My steps were divergent from his.
When tender waters slid across the shore,
I found myself sinking in his impressions.
Thick wet sand filled in around my toes.
Wondered, if like quicksand, it might swallow me.
Would I suffocate trying to fill traces drained from his unfulfilled expectations.
Summers came and went.
Tides receded and cascaded.
Our distinctive marks melted together on a forgiving seashore floor.