Monday, June 20, 2022


By now, you'd think 
we would have seen this: 

how each season 
is precipitated 
by its unwelcome antecedent. 

And yet, crawling 
through winter 
or fleeing summer's heat, 

the weight of time 
and rote-ness of regret 
will still pool 

and enter through 
the center of our pupils. 
Our sightlines toward safety 

and comfort and hope 
are soon overgrown 
with the colorless light 

of yesterday nights
and formless sounds 
of foreboding tomorrows, 

as, once again, we curdle 
with another autumn's 
stiff wind, 

or clot 
at the thought of another 
spring's floodwaters.

And so we stand 
at the edge of it always, 
hurtling curses 

and crippled by inertia.
Invariably, someone will say, 
it's the obstacle 

which becomes the way;
but just as often, we know 
by now, 

it all goes down
vice versa.