A Whiff of Chaos

in a caesura between now and then
she clings to the time
when looking back was sweet
a dream of open space
of nights fragrant with feathers
and a carapace of stars
there are snapshots soaked in vinegar and honey
the failed revolution and days gone to scrub
the car’s lost in long term parking
her pockets flapping inside out
there’s dust to water down
sheets to air
and the mirror no longer casts its spell
so far the sky’s still there
sunlight climbs from the latest dark
as the new day hovers like surprise
and before she lies in the stone throat of sleep
she breathes scent of buds nippling from branches
of ripe mornings random as vines
or listens to the terse comments of rain
the hovering business of hummingbirds
and marvels at the luster of lightning bugs
or a thread of spittle sparkling in a cat’s yawn.

it’s the best that she can do
not much
it's everything

Ruth Daigon | Mudlark No. 25
Contents | Time Enough