Evening

Weathervane Words

Today
the elastic wind
sang a love song,
swallows swam
on auto pilot,
drifting
across the
ocean sky,
humming soft
somethings
to the wind.

Today
the memory of flesh
spoke to me about
yesterday like a
pin cushion
with short sharp
jabs,

asking me to remember
ghosts,
faces that have
long since faded
into the dust,
like so many other things
we find it easier to bury
on shelves
in dark closets.

Today the sky wept
like a child
lost in its own
house,
tears rolled down the clouds
like lace love letters
undelivered,


today whispers
like the rain showers
weathered by their own puddles,
weathered by wrinkles
and regret
indigo
and coming undone,

today feels like a gust
of cold arctic air
warm to the touch
of these bitter
hands,

today is like a blister
bleeding and bruised
by hours that have
forgotten how
to sing,
the words tainted
by the weathered
intentions
and what was really
meant to be said.

Weathervane you sit
stoic and silent
never faltering
not bothered by
what is going on
all around you.

I wish I could be
a weathervane.

Kevin Harling