Soft afternoon sneaks under morning’s hold
Faint breeze hoisting tiny bits of almost forgotten summer
Save for a little dry stick along the path
Snapping under foot, cracking into the damp green new grass
And carried along on the breeze.
Gentle, slumbering afternoon for remembering a thousand other places
Just like now.
When this breeze might ruffle the curtain of summer’s open window
Or spoil the warmth of spring’s first day
Or maybe whisper “Here I come” on the edge of winter.
And this afternoon falls into the long hold of night
Long after the breeze passes to those other times
Where the morning, the night, the day
All hang in one long breath
Shaken Rain 