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The ice bag spilled in the garage
Like precious cubed diamonds
From the rains on Jupiter
While trying to feed the broken ice maker in the house.
Last night there was a Mockingbird, still young,
Straining in its training
Trying to mimic the ballast of neighbourhood fireworks.
And there was the call of the Owl
For all to be quiet in the woods.
To be quiet in the woods
While the wide world went wild.
The windows fog
As the hot breath of Summer
Breathes upon our cool, hidden inside.
Our house is a spaceship in time,
Our couch is a boat that floats on lava with sails made of cartoons,
My rocking chair a stallion craving sleep
And the cicadas sing like so many poems of my past
Connecting me to so many childhood summers so, so long ago.
The spilled ice became tiny dark pools that flash
My fractured reflection as I walk by,
Circling the interior of our home again while my daughters sleep.
Little portions of me drying slowly on the ground, like so many versions of my past.
I patrol the house, figure eights for safety
For blessings, for comfort,
Lost in thought, lost in time, lost in memories
Of chasing those trailing kite lines in the sand
Connecting me once again to those Summer’s ends
So, so long ago.