twilight hum

it’s poetry,
watching children race after inanimate objects with heavy shoes against a backdrop of blue and gold.
it’s magic,
the way the sun-beams reflect off the water and onto traveling bicycles as their wheels exhaust their strength upon dirt-covered lake paths.
it’s beauty,
hearing the wind whistle from the mouths of singing trees.
it’s laughter,
watching a woman’s legs move and her arms flail to the muted beat perpetuated through the silence. her ears oozed an invisible blood and her bones broke from the pressure.
it’s peace,
lying in knee-high grass as the fireflies cooled the air and drenched the fields in their twilight hum. and as the dying sun sank behind the purple mountains, the wine was finished and the blankets became ruffled.
it’s adventure,
breaking down the walls of burnt houses and then starting on our burnt hearts careful not to bring the whole thing down too quickly.
it’s love,
as our silhouettes swayed back and forth before the headlights of my car and under the protection of the music bouncing off the midnight sky. these are the days memories are made of.
it’s life,
feeling as if it has given us another chance to breathe its air, smell its breath and add our scent to the burning leaves.

but then again, maybe the weather is just changing.

posted by jon havens

pink chalk and eggs

dreams always taste better in the morning.
after the sun has burned its way across your sheets.
and that seaward breeze has swirled into your room.
adventure on the wind.
god bless the blue atlantic breath.
blowing away all of the worlds incredulity.
and our unwillingness to be children.
breakfast always taste better in the evening.
eggs and toast under the orbiting moon.
a quiet summer solstice in my ears.
starlight on my plate, and in the purple sky.
god bless your voice, that soft pink chalk.
drawing on my lungs.
filling me with such a lovely dust.
life always taste better in the afternoon.
those tall grass cricket voices,
green in my mind,
golden on our sphere.
bicycle rides through berry bushes.
trails made by the children of some other time.
here we are now.
the amber burning heavens before us.
the deep dark atmoshpere of space behind.
adventure on the wind.
just the way it should be.

posted by drew carlascio