poem 205 of a poem a day for 2012

nostalgic for pickled unusual

                                                      

I am caught in the

whispering vespers

I hold close to the vest

I got hurt in my soul

so I keep

an emptying of my heart

as a jarred firefly

trying to shine

through the dark

to light the end

of this June’s

Summer call for all

I am drawn

to the invocation

in the soft quiet

cracking of asphalt

under wired

cicada sound

another last Saturday

in America spilling out

a sleepy late breakfast

type of day all across this land

I am all

linger and lazy

fingering

the ivories of hazy

engagement

of my motivation today

jazz is playing

telling me to slice

and marinade

sharpen my own intentions

blade my skin to be

the outside of the window

go get the grill ready

and chill more wine

the strawberries are for

the Pinot Grigio

the melody seems to know

that I weave magic-eye denials

to curtain the pain of failing

to meet my own expectations

and the rhythm knows

what I listen to

in the turn frenzy

of the trees

and their full hair leaves

in the hot breeze

of an afternoon leaning  

July spies where

I smile wide

in the thicket

hunting the gloaming

in a low crept prayer

on its knees

saying, Edward please

remember I am

your child of Winter

and your desire

to feel life burned

inside out

EJR ©