the wetness

thick with a cool mist
the scent of countless things growing
and without permission
finds my palette open to the night air
i drink it in
the new life breathing utter honesty
of a tradition of renewal
its touch is just
wet enough just
cool enough to be just
suspended
between discomfort and bliss
it is earth
it is the sigh of a leaf just opened
of a bloom pedal just fallen
it is newness unmatched
i look up to be reminded of our company
but in place of the pinholed heavens
the wetness hangs low
and illuminated by the city's unchecked ballasts
orange replaces blue
but unlike the bees
i have not yet lost my way

some deer

woods
today are packed with a monoculture
of hunters
hunting anything with a patch of fur
and a pulse

i've just cleaned my rifle
had a big breakfast
trimmed my beard

it's time to realize my father