Out there echoes the brokeness of my situation.
It crashes the house oblivious to the shattering person inside.
The trees how they yield for mercy, begging to be spared.
Helpless are we to save them.
As he was to salvage me.
Agitated currents force unrest below the stones.
Invisible fists lay waste to my sweet plastic pots for spring planting.
The nascent air–bitter instigator of material tears–shoves and pushes into massive tantrums.

Not here.
Thank God, as I can’t take anymore breaking.
Inside, my squatting flesh reverberates with leftover aches.
Old blunders once a spiral of mad air.
Winter’s wilding beyond the anchor of a little brown desk.
Where his feet once rested on my knees.

swirl skating