this sway of thought, this dance of turnabout and a song to go with where you go with me.
Words crack the ice with their flicker of a bird, a bud, the bottomless echo of sweetness.
The obvious was about the dark and its fascination, the memory of what it is stays blue
and brings me to a state of grace or of glower, unable to know if I or the horned owl see
a firefly welcoming its swirling kin weaving with a sound of no-see-ems clustering below.
The wind hooks the tail of the missing, what you see as suddenly as you don’t. All love is
is a circle swelling with the body’s curve marveling at its sugar spawn, its forevermore.
One summer I was even younger, I slept in a screened-in backporch. I sleep there still.
I cannot tell you the way I hear winter grow into a native warmth, yet I try to record
echoing voices coming through the dying trees and the living and up from their roots.
In summer I grow too old to return. Wet orange among green. Scarlet filling black air.
The rain comes and the sun follows. The sun rises higher in the sky. All day, shines.
I never leave. The eyes of memory follow. What I was I am, a heart without burden.
(21 February 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander