Five Seasons

Winter

Come, child.

Let me brush against your jacket

make you curl inward like a leaf -- insulated.

Dachshund, a study in fidelity

walks along the dusky road; quiet curving.

Light falls in the doorway

and drowsy become your eyes

the sun is tired, soon to dip.

Summer

Swear to make no promises in summer.

When those clouds change and wisp away

as the words slip out, sentences tinkle

to the floor, like change from a purse.

Slip not in the change.

Toes in the sand, and rough skin rides off.

Old clauses and old books, much like

calluses chafing in delayed surf.

Fall

down

down

down

Do we die a bit each time we sleep

or go places we daren't when awake?

There five seasons of sand running through my fingers

and I'm sometimes not so sure what gems Ive caught

or lost

upon clutching closed, so

my clenched fist draws white.

Spring

There's never any rhyme or reason

whichever may be the season.

Wonder who slid down that crevasse

frozen in pain and alone, preserved.

Grab that hat, tuck away sad songs

and inhale this new hue

a blue you used to dream of, a long while back

of blossoms (and thoughts)

like butter -- rich, full, creamy things.

You

The penny drops.

You didn't hear.

Never do.

You may well throw accolades on me

before the world, but in the grip of this dance 

tiers come forth and I slip rapidly ten levels, down.

Down the ladder, with heart decidedly heavier than its climb up.

Perhaps, when all the letters fly in the breeze

the kites will turn the right way round 

and you taste salt as you lick onto your tongue 

a sleeping storm.

Because I thought we could talk about it, and

in the flurry of the beehive 

Better late for some, if not all.........