Kind of Harvest

Take every yesterday wanting to forget itself in daylight—

Sun-slants prying through the heedless, trying clouds

The way morning stars rise as if nothing happened

To the sea last night

When you stood there, shore-bound

Drowned out by soundless yells

Falling on stone ears—the rain piled up

In your eyes, waiting.

See this dawn, shed yesterday

The way snakes shake out of their skin

Growing into believing they’re new

Like how every tree breaks the baring of itself

Each long winter waiting for tints that hint at renewal

Or how rain stands its overflow of repetition

Rehashing the sky with every moon

That never changes its changing ways.

Inhale this air, deeply inspired—

Hold it in your lungs as long as it takes

To feel how desire grows

Until it can’t be kept inside you

Much as every winter tree

Almost freezes from foot to branch-tip

Waiting for winter to thaw its grip

Until green exhales.

Coven this ground, soiled in its harvest

Plowing dirt that furrows every farmer’s forehead

Brow-beaten from a lack of promise

Budding with uncertainty.

Plant these stars to crop the dark

The same way clouds seed themselves

Without covenant over barren lands

Breathless for another chance.

Grieving

Sometimes, the grieving heart

Turns away from what could heal it.

You wait out the long winter

Opposing spring’s green faith

The way every sun-starved vine in the world

Turns beclouded by shadows

Bittering wine.

And much as the rain recycles itself

Clings to falling

You look up—feel the wind’s undertow

Shaping clouds, stripping midnight trees

Tipsy stars swimming in the dark

And the sea pounding away

Squalling in its cradle of ribs.

The sky is torn apart

Thundering at its broken places, the clipped moon

Waiting to ripen, still

Rippling surefire over everything

Needing to be filled

Eye-catching anyone who needs

Holding on till sunrise spills its simple voice:

Pain hurts.

Rain is a bandage.