Melancholy & Missing Lighters

  An evening in May, sweltering hot, a stunning contrast from the previous week, that was frigid, covered in frost. In leafing trees, I tie up my tarp, so haggard and warped; though water runs on down through pinholes peppered about, The steady roll of rain's kept clear at bay, so dry I stay, dampened sleeping bag bottom aside. Following close to the showers now clear, a heavy humidity, rousing me from slumber deep, to see skies so blue, An open path for thick white clouds, lazily, merrily strolling through, and cutting off the sun's serenade. I tear the tarp down out 'o my space; on the ground I sprawl out to escape the stagnant heat, with breezes so far and few in between. The load I carry in my pack, now heavier grown, since I tucked away winter bibs for a tattered brown skirt. Rested under a pine, 'fore strapping gear on and taking my leave through a field that's lined with rail ties, yellow flowers, and trees.

  He's bitter like the fallen citrus lying under the beating sun,  Take a bite and wash it down with the hose water from the nearby church.  He's familiar as the never ending days and sand spurs in your sandy feet,  Wipe off the sweat, bite your lip and pluck him out again. He clings like the muggy air, a suffocating warmth,  Sit down to catch your breath, only to fall back into its heavy embrace.

  Oh muse, impart upon us, tales of times since passed, Oh daughter of thought, so pensive and bright, enduring reminder of all we've forgot, Oh muse, to us sing, delicate your song, a casualty, To silent change and deafening strife, abandoned cruelly, ready, for a new life Bestow upon us, through our tongue bitten back,  Your words come forth, through mud and bone, through the very blood in our veins that flow, Summon stories, woven deep in our flesh, In e'ry turn of this planet painted blue, to us whisper memories, lost to the stars.