When it erupts, it disturbs harmony. It takes time to get back to self, walking a frozen ocean, trekking glaciers. Asunder winds. Plucked feathers. Minds wailing with concern. No matter how close I get, I can’t get close enough.
It’s an uphill traipse. The fields are barren. Those tides are wretched.
I wrote a letter by ink. I told the tale. I placed it in an envelope. I stamped it. I went to mail it, & time stood in stillness. I tore it up. I betrayed the future.
Strumming she says. Those forgotten seconds, as they meant life.
Into meadows, pausing at creeks, jarring various bugs. Fireflies are out. They flock around lamps. Never close enough—until it’s over.
Thrumming skies. Depth of what’s unfelt. Reluctant to sing.
