A Shiver In Late Spring

We laughed at each other’s jokes not more than a full moon passed. On a slick surface, half-smiles crack a wintry face. My soul abandons breath in a lifeless bird’s nest unsteady on a teetering limb. Under bare trees, my roots tangle in decay. Nearby, February dips a toe into warm streams cried, connected by frozen acquaintances. I am no more than a shiver in late spring, bits of fallen bark. Did I call you clever or cruel? Your burly charm crumbles like brittle bone. A silver fox traces my lines, the comings and goings of my own mistakes, naivety, iniquities, my slips, stains, incongruous existence. Winter slaps both cheeks till summer burns tender flesh. I called you mine or whoever I dreamed you to be. When did I get old, lose my evergreen glow, my ability to grow and stand alone? Your laughter follows, echoes from mockingbird skies. Love strays into a thinning wood, more sly than I. An enemy came disguised, carried away my better days with lies, came to chip at shells, fragment smiles. I wish for more than days connected by endless seconds – acquaintances, pretenses. I sip black coffee to remind me of your bitterness. I start days with a half-smile because it’s a start. I trace, get-to-know, embrace my own lines. Dawn lifts veils, finds my smudges - my little gifts of mottled, hand-me-down colors. We traveled side-by-side too long on far less than a quest, more like our own tour guides on a hike to nowhere. We wasted time, called each step a discovery. You, like a cult, tried to suffocate, berate, till silence was all I knew of me. Tomorrow marks the return of hazel-eyed summer. Tonight marks the return of a full moon's bare-backed ride across striated sky, over my lines, where I will find I. (a work in progress)