Seasons – Page 114

it’s not who I am
this someone in the mirror
but who I became
–
a placid lake-
the moon’s watery
countenance

in the aftermath-
flowers left by the roadside
fading in the sun
–
stippled sunlight-
mushrooms growing
on fallen trees

a blanket of clouds
pulled up tight over my head
shutting out the day
–
morning song-
the reluctance
of wakefulness

on a sea of glass-
the wind, a fickle mistress
abandoning me
–
moonless sky-
wolves howling
into the wind

roadmaps of black veins
crawl across her damaged arms
recording the hits
–
sheer bliss-
a wasp amid
the rose stems

cloudy desert skies
bringing the promise of rain
and with it new life
–
parted clouds-
fresh cut tulips
on the table

ribbons of sea foam
settling across wet sands
as the tide comes in
–
light from the transom-
smoothing wrinkles
from her bedsheets

my bed set adrift
on an ocean of vodka
swells lapping my feet
–
whispering waves-
my head hanging
low off the bow

seeking atonement-
clad in fresh linens, walking
down to the water
–
dusty winds-
a lake of bricks
cracking in the sun

shards of old grudges-
determined to stay angry
poisoning myself
–
dusty trainers-
running from the sound
of broken glass