I Heard Your Name

As the sun slumps into this weedy basket holding the just-purchased forest,

Beth, I heard your name.

Leaning into shoulder aches, I push this woodland book away from the waiter;

Beth, he said your name.

Moths myth smoke-black as we burn our world to sear our numb wings to our tensing backs;

Beth, they hiss your name.

All these aches, all these bird-filled brakes, myth-stained moths, our iron-on wings of singe and dross;

Beth, they called your name.

Beth, I called your name.

Beth, I heard your name.

Sharing today, somewhat tardily, with The Sunday Muse. It was odd--we've done so much straightening up lately that when I woke up, I was just grateful that it was sunny and cool, that there were scones and coffee for breakfast. After weeks of just seeing black linings around whatever image was placed before me, I just wanted to spend a few minutes of calm. There's that buzz that goes slightly dormant and you think--yep, just reached saturation. Did this last? Only as long as I refused to engage with anyone but the dogs. Seriously, she needs a dog. Maybe a three-headed one that likes chomping things and...limiting her interaction with others. Mine only has one head, but he has decided that if I bring a blanket, he'll adapt to the new writing space. He's a little elderly for chomping but he was heck on ponytails, back in the day. :)