in the changing weather patterns
this past week
there must have been some subliminal message
intended only for me. i followed the wind
and went east
until both the land and i
it always seems i'm running away from anything
that feels like home, and the pastel walls
and pull-down bed of an abandoned hotel
(abandoned not by natural disater or
sudden migration, but by the fickle seasons
and their fickle incomes) repulsed and welcomed
me in the same instant.
stood watching the waves strain to break
the ocean's hold--but you know, they always
end up washed up and washed out--until
i thought the time was right for the sun to set.
it took until midnight to free myself from the mystery
of the absent dusk and my frozen hands burned like fire
when i returned to my heated room. nothing ever
touches me so early in the morning and i missed
the sun's only appearance on the east's earthly canvas
the next day.
on the way home, i noticed how the squirrels had
built their nests in summer--carefully, cautiously
choosing the right tree, placing all the pine needles
and other construction material in the vein of their
time-tested instinct and grandparents--and how now,
winter on the day, they lay unprotected by those
trees that once seemed so welcoming.
the leaves had run away, but the squirrels had stayed,
deciding to tough out the chill and winds
for stubborness's sake and pride's preservation.
and it struck me as odd that the only dead squirrels
i ever see are those who venture down from their
nests to play with the bigger, faster, great steel animals.
my house was still standing when i pulled into the driveway.
i had prepared myself for its disappearance the entire
drive home, foolishingly thinking that my
ignorance of things could somehow vanish them away.
i know that someday i'll see the sun set over the ocean,
though it seems the Atlantic is not the correct venue
for this to happen. and maybe someday i'll know why
it takes more than realizing something for it