potency

it's beach day in the fields

it's beach day in the fields-
the places they used to frolic
with a gleam of fresh youth.
where they started believing
in the power of the sun's rotations,
the righteousness of a new life.
and they would count the clouds
to pass the time, listen to the taste
of secrets, find strength in that
ever present blue that seeped in past
the skin, the muscle,
right into their thirsty blood.

they only survived the june.
floated away with downpour
of midsummer storms.
perhaps that whisper of the wild
only came to the ears of the weary.
perhaps they weren't meant to surpass
the beginnings of a new season.

i came back to the land
we tamed and signed,
reprinted old footprints
with my soles. the naked trees
weren't ready for my summer heat.
the grass, the branches,
the ladybug latched to my finger,
all wept for the death of flowers
and ribs- decay the anthem
of this new morning.
where dirt turned up dry
and tongues even more so,
i still twisted in the wind's secrets,
caught the wild's whispers
in my hair. perhaps it only
came to the ears of the weary.

this field, my jungle, summer lover.
it was not the land of the rolled graves,
nor the land of wisping beamers.
in its lap called the rigid boned,
up-all-night quiet talkers,
the gold-teared, swell of dark dancers.
furious mountain climbers.
it sang its return to home-
that precious hum of new life.

those kids with tunnel vision who finally saw,
they did not survive, but i did.