transfuse

the indigo passover
of clouds back lit by moon
a chilly april night
plays the wind chimes
i succumb to a hundred emotions
in the tide of red
i miss, i curse, i look forward
transition springs
(i'm losing things)
to calculate the shift of wind
becomes a tiring task
instead, i marvel overhead
hoping that onlooking
and participation
merit worth
even if latitudes and bank accounts
don't match

take me to oak hill
a finders keep
where the body finds function
and miles mean deliverance
when minutes don't matter
alongside sake of it
take me to oak hill
while firetrucks wait at home
because living is
all too electrical
and may moves closer to april