Sweatshirt Weather

One exists who teaches how to hear earthworms at night. How does a human deserve such a blessing? How does this impermanent thing, this floating wisp of a woman merit that kind of love?

Music moves back and forth from minor to major keys and it informs everything I read. The power of what cannot be worded. It rules me, beloved.

A tornado rips just south of here and doesn't appear in my dreams. Yet thunder shook the walls and windows so hard I thought to look for missing glass. No children flew into my room for comfort, but the dog did pace and cry a little in the hopes of consolation.

No pools of rain at dawn; the land gulped it all and even asks for more. It's colder now, sweatshirt weather for walking or writing or sitting. Leaning against the door frame, staring out into gray, listening to what is here. Melaluca in the air. A frost warning on the first day of summer. I sigh with the world.

One meal a day for a month. Hunger shows up in my dreams if I am allowed to sleep that long. I'm asking, who's in charge here? When stumbling onto a bee's nest, the bees are in charge!

Another level of confusion when no one eats from the garden. Let this go too, is the word on the street. One could sit still all day and watch infinity passing by. Can one sit and live? Fast and be still? Forever?

Sometimes it is twenty sentences and sometimes it is more. But always, it is the one who illuminated the one who said: let us try this.