intrepid bales
that sit along the bay
turn green
in texas light like
algae
in a field.
i wrestle myself
every day
to walk by them,
to not call you.
it's a fact.
in the morning
i wake myself up
saying strawberry galaxies
and
you are like
hay fever in my head
on my mind too
all the things
we rolled in, laughs we reaped
in the beginning...
like the hard edge of tractors
as they swept us
away,
the death
of being together.
it's hard this time of year.
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