At an equestrian compound I sit
serenely at sunrise on the pond’s bank.
Birds swoop soft to catch the morning’s sweet air.
They chirp at the light and I think of sleep.
To the left of my bench perch a rooster
stands guard over a family of ducks,
his authoritative eye watches me.
A golf cart glides by on the road behind us.
I jump as the rooster’s call startles me.
The air raid siren rattles to a gasp.
Night had not slowed me. I felt surreal, strange.
Struck conciously deep in my lonely thought.
She said, “It won’t get any easier, I promise.”
Shameful spite echoed like far away thunder,
Living thunder can ignite entropy
and emerging adults from their frozen restlessness.
In this long summer we are starwealthy.
We dive from the bank like little white minnows.
Raging freaks dance in front of dusty fires
lethargy lost and purring synapses.
I’ve found that together there is never
really cause for anything but rejoicing.