Playing rough

so well behaved
during an unbroken
stream of blue days
that I clean forgot
you could play
so rough

on the last
hot day of October
your light was
ready to spill over the edge
into darkness
the thin gray horizon
hiding winter
out of sight

then you came in swinging
6 straight days
of house rocking punches
10 inches of
life giving liquid
falling in the span
of one mornings cup of coffee to the next
the river gorged
and pushed out of its banks
by the advancing tide
you just don’t know
when to quit

as I walk
more evidence
of your mood
lies strewn across the road
in piles
of living matter
having delivered
on their promise
that took
all of the days of spring and summer
to keep

as i sit
writing this
the thud
of the surf
calls me to walk
by the
pull of
you and your
knee high foam
and broken trees
and the rearing
ladder of waves
that you make from
six thousand miles of sea
and the thin membrane of land
under my feet

and in all of this
you say
it is easy to walk
in the high meadows of summer
when the light is low in the West
and the world holds still

but to really
know me
you say
i want you here
humbled by cold
salt rimmed eyes
staring into the west
at me
dressed in grey
coming at you


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