Something Living This Way Comes
Across the derelict field
in the narrow track of pressed grass
where earlier his footsteps crossed,
there sprung a trail of wild flowers,
each impression bursting with
kaleidoscopic color: poppies,
lupine, foxglove, beardtongue,
bluebells ringing something
living this way comes!
A cluster of cows belly down
in the mud-shade refuge
of the old oak rose up all at once
like hoisted sails at the rustle
of his pass-by, bellowing a greeting
and rubbing their rumps in revival of feeling.
The moment he entered my room
curtains billowed and snapped at the edges,
scent of dryer sheets sweetening the air.
A fly stopped buzzing as light
through the maple tree outside the window
painted its leaf shadow in crisp animation
upon the age-pocked peeling wall.
When he took my hand, my fever fled
like a stray dog at the throw of a stone,
a light rinse cycle washing me clean
where everything old, while remaining,
was now more itself than each at its start,
the weary cracks of fracture channeling
actual laughter unraveling the dark.