Each day the cold weighs the clouds down to cry on us
out of pity to deprive us of bright warmth
and the mud collects under the stunted flowers trampled by hail,
we will rise when clear and better for it.
The morning fog weighs lids clinging to dreams of restless nights fighting to break the day with rote motion,
taking the weight from one place to another is your part.
The afternoon clearing came with each movement influencing the wind and celebrating release with unspent energy,
which lit to exhaustion, which obscures the evening of intimacy.
The early wake, give to create, ideate what others like,
make prep, refine in time, anticipate the later, for penache,
sure we do what we enjoy but tonight and the whole of yesterday,
devoted to this for you.
Disappointment floats on elevated experiences
and settles in to replace hope as it dissipates.
