Summer is fraught with desire
like burrs that cling to your socks.
I grow up a weed,
become characters I could never hope to be
like Lara or the French Lieutenant’s Woman.
My best friend fills me in about sex. My hand trembles
when I get a crush.
I was a child with a child’s awe.
I will be old and dying.
As a child, August heat lightning was like a bonfire in the sky.
Old age will be like coals glowing after a fire.
Death pours water on my consuming life.
Desire could come suddenly like a downpour of rain,
linger like a wet wash cloth.
When love dies, the survivors
Caught in Torrent
The river quivers.
Before the storm, I am wary as a worm.
I have been here before.
The wind is gentle as a girl’s skirt,
still and ominous. There is a moment
when I am no longer me.
The morning gift wraps the sun in haze.
Then there is a sprinkle of rain
like the spray from the bow of a boat.
I am anxious the storm will follow.
What am I afraid of? Next the rain will be
like Chinese ink brush on water.
The river stirs, a green leviathan.
Afterwards, my feet are soaked.
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