Like Deadened Leaves

It's such a quiet day
when I am not flustered
by the fiery drafts
of you,

and there is room for
rain.

Even when rain opens
up, then hesitates to let
the sun dominate,
I still feel silence pour
from accidental
paragraphs
of me.

Sometimes, when the days
are the shortest,
and the light is scarcely
writing,

I like to think I am
unmistakable,
that my cracks are only
lines that have told
times how to escape.

Like the rest
from your shoulder blade,
I will live off summer's
storage

and lurk 'til I kindle
you again,

somehow changed and
made to live warmly,
without gravitating
towards a demise
sprung for
heathens.

Like deadened leaves,
like rain's dulcet stories,

I will be here
for change.

Written 7/14/2012 at 5:36 pm.