Kind of Harvest

Take every yesterday wanting to forget itself in daylight—
Sun-slants prying through the heedless, trying clouds
The way morning stars rise as if nothing happened
To the sea last night
When you stood there, shore-bound
Drowned out by soundless yells
Falling on stone ears—the rain piled up
In your eyes, waiting.

See this dawn, shed yesterday
The way snakes shake out of their skin
Growing into believing they’re new
Like how every tree breaks the baring of itself
Each long winter waiting for tints that hint at renewal
Or how rain stands its overflow of repetition
Rehashing the sky with every moon
That never changes its changing ways.

Inhale this air, deeply inspired—
Hold it in your lungs as long as it takes
To feel how desire grows
Until it can’t be kept inside you
Much as every winter tree
Almost freezes from foot to branch-tip
Waiting for winter to thaw its grip
Until green exhales.

Coven this ground, soiled in its harvest
Plowing dirt that furrows every farmer’s forehead
Brow-beaten from a lack of promise
Budding with uncertainty.
Plant these stars to crop the dark
The same way clouds seed themselves
Without covenant over barren lands
Breathless for another chance.

Grieving

Sometimes, the grieving heart
Turns away from what could heal it.
You wait out the long winter
Opposing spring’s green faith
The way every sun-starved vine in the world
Turns beclouded by shadows
Bittering wine.

And much as the rain recycles itself
Clings to falling
You look up—feel the wind’s undertow
Shaping clouds, stripping midnight trees
Tipsy stars swimming in the dark
And the sea pounding away
Squalling in its cradle of ribs.

The sky is torn apart
Thundering at its broken places, the clipped moon
Waiting to ripen, still
Rippling surefire over everything
Needing to be filled
Eye-catching anyone who needs
Holding on till sunrise spills its simple voice:

Pain hurts.
Rain is a bandage.