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Poem

Each human around me sweats
Wears sunglasses
Smacked by gusts
A nesting couple hollows me,
Two tawny, tiny twitterpates
Ready for rainstorms,
And I would be happy.
But, this spring, I am still barren,

Like the young man's eyes
Across from me
I see sitting in midnight blue
Rising randomly observant riding shotgun
Glancing blue at human beauty
Asking aloud if hollow or healer
Earbuds grind
A slave to passion
Looking for mirrored darkness
In-between long pauses of reading 
Dead poets,
Wishing for weather less crazy
Possibilites
Mouthing "Why did I let her in?"
"What if I take my life tomorrow?"
Vibes absorbent dancing Back-alley Wasteland.

I rustle my dryness fervently--
Dissuasion?--
When the next gust sweeps this asphalt lot,
My home.
He notices,
Eyes fully scoped
Blue iris majesty,
"Why didn't I care when she died?" 
he asks me or maybe it's a question for my arms.

"Love summertime, hollow sunshine,"
And the sky of half-sun weeps
neither bitterness nor solace.

Together we would love
An oasis for the coming summer
Another real one
Doesn't wear sunglasses
Shading intentions unnatural,
Prone giftings pure fire
No human nor tree
Ever since has seen.

The young man's family returns.
The car starts.
The rain spreads to another heart
In Jersey; tawny twains uprooting sanity.
I part with this man
I've only seen once before
Wishing I'd spoken something
Besides "Soul firewood."

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