There is a wind unbound by the heat. There is a smoke tumbled down the patio. The variations are many, the stories few. Scrub jays and sparrows, mourning doves and carpenter bees. Names that we place upon those that couldn’t care less what we call them. Murder apes mouthing oaths at a world that owes them nothing but payback, chittering away our yip yap and jibber jabber, noise our native tongue. Life on Mars sweeps across the ruinous yard, weaving its spell over cement and shadow, reaching deep in the muddled history of my heart. Foot soldier in a war of lost arts.
It all follows suit, the strained, sorry heart only wise in its wallow. The cavalcade of lost loves and blow kisses, breaks that never bothered to mend. The parade of the dead ones, family, friends, and the dogs and cats consigned to ash heaps or hurried graves. The litany of dead pets bring fresh tears, their slackened, heavy bodies and their precious, darling souls. The only beings I would wish heaven upon, gone gone gone. This worthless, maudlin husk left to decay in slow circles. This selfish, unlovable heap missing their unyielding light of love.
Leaf and limb shimmy in the long toothed sun, shimmering bright glints and soft blue shadows, the day to its gracious traces. Dragonflies flit in their Hot Wheels colors and swift decisions over the field behind the fence, a glimmer of metal amid the glamour of their deft hunt. Little pieces still in place to remind of the beauty of the fading world. Glib platitudes float past, smug mumbling phrases articulating old saws and misspent wisdom, truths of transience touted as we approach the cataclysmic fall. Taking in the solace of shade, the stubborn continuity of life despite human recklessness and our proud damnation. Laying low while the daylight punches itself out, hope another caution stolen by a fickle wind.
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