Seven of them, young, tempting to any firecracker, Working hill's steep slide, wet grass and briar. Finding heavy cover from the town, from police, Laying their blankets down under crescent moon, undiscovered, beneath suburbia's own wet stars.
But when the first July rose grew in the air, I sprinted fastest, catching the crackle, hoping to catch fire, soon huddled with necks stretched to stare skyward, draped in celebration. And, I can never again select a night brighter, where seven boys, embracing their booming lullaby on the brink of independence, outshone such a show.
Autumn Sleep
remembering an october fury fueled by fall, finding day&night seperately streaming between uninterrupted sleep.
taking the time to stand upon moon crater /starrolling, moonfighting, in dusty liquidbluenight. (though at peace&sleeping, something remains anxious as dawn).
and once awake, wishing for an alchemist (crushing november mortar against december pestle) /to turn this rain into precious metals.
At
ArethusaFalls (sonnet outside)
i took the time to stand atop the falls. /wading in, autumn water tugged at me like an old friend, whose frothyrumbling, calls me to lean over /& to step freely.
few allow themselves such natural walks - & because you weren't there, i took your name
(spelling it with only the softest rocks heavy enough to hold fast & remain ignorant of the current's rockbound force).
i retreated to the treetop cover, but your name stays despite the river's course (i'd still choose it over any other).
now there's a name written underwater /for my kate (& nature's perfect daughter).
