An Ode To Hurricane Season

and imagine
would it be funny if all the scales
falling from our eyes were the filter
colors used on
old films to brighten the flush on
a heroes' cheeks make his
glistening eyes more manly and
green

then we
would see things stirring. stirring like rabbits
tangled about the
forgotten
roadsides. where a diner might have been. or where
a car may
have stopped and
looked at the stars grazing
asphalt an unsatisfied bull

toreador!

and-hold on-home
would be a word it would a word
or moon or some
thing like a moon
when really moon is a word a best friend word
a

horizon

and those five hours spent in Florida were the closest to five hours ever spent. there are places where you can knock the fragrance right out of
falling in love or rain being slung in a medieval way
backwards and slanted
up
ways

how the ghost of a mountain
moves about the clear cut things
are always
circles