The prospect of a potential summer storm
Is concerning as most windows in the house are
Open or cracked, most of the time. The dashed and
Dotted lines that sang before in parallel perfection
Guiding me while the hatches of our home received
The proper battening have, in these short months,
Embossed into my arm.
(I’d say she were my compass, but that might dupe
anyone who’d think we had direction) (and
I’d say splayed but I’m not sure it’s better than
Anything else) on our family room couch, on pillows
That have never matched, but have somehow always
Been here.
There wasn’t always such a detailed map. In darker times
Where violent winds would nudge me from my duty; Krishna
Would have lost his SHIT. What is a man without it?
I would, first, have to find that man and ask what I
Misplaced. And that requires finding. Is it worth the search
Knowing what you’ll find is less perception?
It’s also drier now; there’s nothing to splash or jostle that
Would leave a stain or mark. I’ve used the lot provided,
And be a fool to ask for seconds. Recently the path is marred
By wrinkles which mimic some path, but are ultimately leadless.
Those horses have been held a little past a year now. With some
Luck, they’ll not be put to pasture, or moreover may it’s
Rotten ammunition mimic the creases in my face.
Nonetheless, she has resisted the temptation that is
Anything else. I don’t get, anymore, when I became the
Ox upon the cart. OK. I have to make my way through
The hall to the bathroom (as the window, like her, is most
Expected to collapse). Her feet are peaking underneath a
Throw. “I’ve only got the dining and the kids’ playroom to go.”
She barely responds because, as I know, little ones don’t come
With coconuts and fronds.
Her counterpart cries, suddenly, jump-scared, and.
I softly let her know that “we’re right here” when “you’re
Right there.” I softly sing a verse of something manic
And disperse, as my own window needs closing. I cannot disengage
As much as lighting is the sky, you are my it. I’ll try to keep
This ending brie—no—ok…something something COCK-pit.
(She’s asleep…)