With each passing year
when seasonal change flaunts her forthcoming
I am more and more astounded by the shift.
Perhaps I was too busy believing in consistency
as a child to mark the differences ascribed in
"Day Light Savings Time." As an adult,
something apprehends this upcoming transformation with
joyous anticipation and soul-full anxiety--an anxiety
that knows death and little to nothing about life after it.
It's a bodily intuition that corresponds with
Jacaranda purple and Dogwood blossoms (or should I call them "miracles"?),
an epistemology so honest, sexy and lonely
at the same time
that I begin to question anything
that operates in a straight line.
1 comment:
Em - I like this one! momma
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