What molten rage appears behind frosted windows
Your panic rises, scorching, then cools icy and remains
Tempers your home cannot, scarcely, contain
Trembling crumbles your well planned calm
You’ve known the truth for far too long
A wink, a blink, a flash, you’re gone.
Though I cannot touch your shirtsleeve, I reach out. You answer me, pull me close with softly written words. Soothe. Calm. We shield ourselves with flannel paragraphs, Hold life’s storms at bay, Understanding, no matter what our whethers, Friendship moors us in undeniable harbour.
Many’s the night you’ve walked these same miles, without ever lifting from your chair.
Dreams like loosed cobblestones, a path crumbling underneath your worn, hobo shoes.
Brief solace sometimes sought, diversions for your wearied soul.
Slippery side streets and names you no longer remember.
We huddle cuddle close in the peeling-paint-framed-storefront,
Sheltered briefly, only briefly, from the sideways stares of passersby.
Safe from showers, drip drip rain that stains the sidewalk,
And washes away the pastel chalky hopscotch
We drew to decorate our unfeathered nest.
My days as dangerous and echoing as a tin with razor sharp edges thrown into the bin.
Then summer. You.
Your free spirit like birdsong, trilled,
Found me, loved me, filled my world to bursting.
Egg shells cracked mosaic-like,
Fledgling life peaked through.