golden hour, they call it

never nothing always / calls me from my skin
rings me round my rosie – a pocket full of
folded napkins / wishes / tissues;
pat-a-cake corners and creases

 

goldrenrod afternoon and i am a curled toe on a blade of grass. june wanders in like a warm lagoon-fellow, i am a suitor. the summer sizes me up, asks me whether i am gentle enough to know it. i bask in the rays of something ponderous and hazy – gold-flecked and sun-beam twirled. there is light coming through the leaves – haven’t you heard? haven’t you seen their electricity on chlorophyll? haven’t you seen the tongues of roots – pulling towards – the sun, or the haze, or the courage of june to exist. like a small thumping heart under the ground – pulsing green fire into the sky. everything reaches – higher, hazier, dipped in fresh goldleaf. the meadow, walking towards me, knows nearly everything i do not know.

the fallen sun, hungering towards sleep, rests its solid colors on the horizon like a pillow, turns to tuck itself in, rolls about in its cotton sheets; its violet, pink and rose; its sunset wool grasping towards the evening like a lullaby in the sky. i sing heavy eyes – wild eyes – gold is gasping in my hair. sunset eyes now – dappled vision – song of bravery through the trees now. turning now, towards the approach of summer moonsong. it’s coming, it’s coming. summer moon is rising.

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again, again, again

wild-eyed ringlet girl spins in circumstance. hung boat linger-sails sing on the horizon. fiddle-fire jangle tunes keep plowing through this square. and here, the people gathered. and here, the people watched. waiting, waited, for the sun to set on the water. and here the golden light came triple washed and pouring – dousing speaker boxes in wildfire. and here, we’re all coupled in the gold. and here, the sunlight drenches all our delicate bones.

there it is, there it is, there it was. the day, the rhythm, the twilight, the courage of light to keep basking.

here it is, here it is, the day of love washing over me. the warmth of this winter glow – pink, elegant, loveboned.

here i am, riddled with flaws and edges, boundless with cracks and edges. hurricane fire with a temper turned on high. here i am, catching my own breath, remembering to re-evaluate, re-assessing my self-awareness. radiating with a bit of heart, a bit of bitterness, a bit of hope, a bit of pragmatism, a bit of wide-eyed optimism. here i am, ready again for another fall, ready again for another flight. here i am, little window-box of love. here i am, thrusting my heart into the sky, again, again, again.