the tangy swig
of a harmonica bend
changes the metric
steadiness
of my
a B a B
heartbeats heartbeats
until my breath
shortens sillily
in me.
a clotted throat
and i have to close my eyes
to steal all the air
into my nose
and slowly push it out from my lips.
my eyes stung with salt this morning.
breaths rose from my bed,
where my feet sat on my pillow and
the sun covered my face.
i mindlessly wondered
when the leaves of the
breezing tree
just outside my window
would catch flame with the coming
of autumn.
as i watched and willed her green leaves
brilliance, little birds chirped in her
tangled hair, playing tag
between her limbs
and tickling the morning dew
out of the fresh spider webs.
i slowly knew, then
that sadness flows like water.
it doesn't always evaporate
with the morning sun
as it should,
though.
instead it just seeps into the cracks
of reason,
sticks to webs,
and can coat the entire
outer layer of my skin
with a slick and odorless film,
sometimes pouring in a fall,
or just dripping,
steadily, softly,
as the meter for
harmonicas playing,
asthmatics breathing,
and birds chirping.
DLS
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