We set out on a path
of wavy, winding light.
Cobblestones deeply grooved,
made more prominent
with tricks of photography,
voila! the finished product.

Skylarks in distant meadows
feed their young
nesting on the ground,
easy prey for red-winged
messengers in the early light.

Street lamps lit by ocean spray
small boats, helpless, in the rocky cove.
Abandoned relics
mute and silent
aside from the cries
of ravens and rooks
on hurried wings.

The glory of the sun retreats,
beauty in its own right.
Night falls.

We are spent.
Rest, now.

Rest.

The tall grass hides me
it sways in the breeze
tickling my cheeks, my bare thighs.

On my back
the earth cool and damp beneath me
I search the sky
groovin’ on the cirrus clouds overhead
so many lifetimes beyond my reach
a dome of invincibility
I will be reluctant to leave behind

some fine future day.

Summer lasts forever
when you’re barely fourteen.

You think your world is bigger than mine,
and any slights that invade your space
carry more weight,
inflict more pain,
require a heftier penance.

I’m tired of believing this is true,
of going all in on self-loathing,
defending myself for what I know
are sometimes just good intentions gone wrong.

So weary of thinking I’m simply not enough.

June bugs spin,
inverted,
on the cool, damp garage floor
at half past midnight

thoughts of gangrene catch in my throat —
tube-socks filled with lime Jello shots
tempt me from the task at hand —
a testosterone-crazed Min-Pin

leaping and lunging
desperate to savor the beetle-crunch
in its powerful jaws
when all I wanted him to do

was go potty.

Now?

Sure. I’m game.

Zzzz….

the heart is a sovereign nation
its emissaries en route to distant lands
by way of narrow channels
congested highways
speedboats on a mission
racing through bloody waters
dispensing life-quenching nutrients
to a parched, needy and often ungrateful host…

Thunder rumbles in the distance
from the western horizon:
the promise of rain.

Good.

Body caked in sweat
baseball cap corralling
a Monday case of unruly hair.
Yet I resist a shower,
the groove of my day
doesn’t yet include
body wash and shampoo.

Not just yet anyway.

I’m enjoying this time alone
pretty much like every 24/7.
Why is that, I wonder?

Little plinks of rain,
staccato formation.
I sit under a shallow eave:
I’m protected enough.
Northwest sky is hazy,
the clouds heavy and full.

Bird feeders are still
just like the air.

Quiet envelops me
as it always does.
I don’t fear it.
I welcome the silence
and embrace it.
It fills me, somehow.

Butterfly high in the sky
against a backdrop
of encroaching cloud cover.
When the storm arrives
where will it fly?
Will it go wherever the elements take it?

Questions I’d not yet ever pondered.

I like it out here
surveying my world
my special place of retreat:
my sanctuary.

Clouds are moving northward
warm air from the south, then.
Atmospheric forces at play
for something spectacular, perhaps.
As with the silence,
I welcome this too.

There’s a throaty growl.
The storm is moving closer.

Mr. Monarch is flying lower now;
it glides and dips above the grass
unconcerned with wind speed,
precipitation,
temperature fluctuations.
I should be so nonchalant,
focusing solely on charting
my own travels and adventures.

My new winged friend
flits in and out of my line of sight
unwittingly imparting
new perspectives on how to live one’s life.

I shall remember this moment.

She leans into
his receptive body,
toggle set to INTEREST,
perhaps INTENT.

Other messages posted too,
aimed at all comers
male and female:
This is mine.
This is where I choose to be.

The boy stood still and smiled,
all warm inside.
He’d not ever known this.

And inside his eager brain,
a yellow neon light:
Proceed, but with caution.
Protect your heart.
Always.
Protect your heart.

Not friends. Not really.
Acquaintances with a common purpose.
Friendly enough but only to a point.
Don’t get too close.
That’s where the little black gadgets come in.
Sanctuaries.
Diversions.
Unflattering devices, however useful they may be.
However fun.

We no longer talk to one another.
We turn to our toys instead.
The divide deepens.

We’re losing ourselves, allowing it to happen.
The emperor has no clothes
yet we’re glued to five inch plates of aluminosilicate glass,
focused on nothing, really.

We’re trading our humanity
for screen time,
marching ourselves toward human obsolescence.

Here — take our souls too while you’re at it.