Monday, August 9, 2021

Old hauntings float along my brain-creases,
airy refrains humming with summer bugs,
counting miles by hundreds. Souls by millions
crowd to micro-canyons under my skull.

Pin-head polkas and salsas slip ’tween
buzzing byways, all beep and honk, gridlock
brightened by these rush-hour street dancers,
small blooms opening spaces, forcing pause.

Quiet. Can you feel that one slow two-step
stalling the amygdala express bus?
The tapping toes of its gaunt passengers,
impatient to work my nerves? They can wait.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week