There's a place where the rain falls
straight down when the wind is
still, where everlastings nod
in time, keeping pace,
and cats watch
from their
wisest
course,
warm and dry
upon a window shelf.
There's a place where ice breaks
over shallow stream, liquid
crystal, rising and falling
over smooth stones,
and crayfish and
tadpoles,
pond
skaters
and dragonfly larvae await
the chuckle of laughter,
the surge of breath,
the brilliance
of
sunlight
reflected on water.
There's a place where an engine cools,
pinging under the mighty heat lamp
of August, crabgrass triumphs
over gravel, peel painted
board creaks
under-
foot, and
the welcoming
hinge of a screen
door lifts two hearts at once.
There's a place where a cool breeze
drifts through an open window,
too cool for a shawl, and yet
the sound of falling rain
on wet leaves heals
some forgotten
wound,
and
the dog
is at the back
door, shaking loose
the past, the way a dog does,
and an hour from now the sun
will have warmed all the earth
into steam and the leaves
in the garden will glow
translucent
emerald,
and
every step
will sink into loamy peat.
There's a place where the wind whistles
over rock and heat lightning flashes
its silent signal across a mono-
chrome landscape of tree-
tops and shadows,
and the
cats
are
asleep
at the foot
of the bed, and
in the place where
time would be there's
the sound of running water,
the laughter in the thicket,
bare feet, and the love of
all beautiful things.
February 21, 2025
