---

Soft and still ripening,
another early august morning.
I thought I'd wake up less restless ‘cause I

cut my hair when the sun and moon were eclipsing
- but I'm still here.
After all these years that I've been
coming and going,
I'm always coming back so uncertain:
pulling back the curtains,
hoping to see mountains.

Now, I'm leaning on the table.
I am an empty vessel.
trying to be thankful every
minute I am able
-a little aimless
But I am free.

Now, I take a walk and I'm
taking nothing with me
but the weight of my thoughts into the churning of the city
heading north along old fences
draped in yellow roses
hanging heavy in the heat
and even heavier with the wishes of
every stranger passing:
lovers in the thick of it,
a mother's touch as time just slips-
their children growing up too quick and
asking their own questions-
Some that I'm still asking with
hands along the grasses like
the surface of a world I've yet to meet.

And the heat keeps rising.
The heat keeps rising

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