The
acorns drop early,
And this
morning,
I hear
birds whose
Names I
can’t recall.
Their
songs, their bodies
Remind
me of last spring.
The
seasons
Don’t
pay attention,
Instead
they overlap,
Blur and
bend,
As if to
resist nature.
They can
pretend, like us,
They way we look
for something,
Like the
denials, or the loveless
Of how we never tried
To love,
Engaged in acts,
This weakness,
We took turns, saying
We must overcome,
Saying all wrong reasons
Why love can’t survive.
Desire weakens,
And I let him use me
And listen to his flat tongue
And how he say how he doesn’t
Trust women.
I cannot respond, it must be
The music in this place
You call home.
Then
there’s me,
Nervous, talkative, and wine clumsy.
I don't understand why I'm saying
What I'm saying, but,
You're not listening, and say
I remind you
Of your
daughter of seven,
The way I can spill, but I know
This is what it's like
To be a
seasonal lover, and
Learning not to blame,
Even when the swell of the moon
sweeps us into weakness,
And for that moment, I seem to fly,
Trying not to look
At your wings, and the way
You will hide your featherless skin.
