awakened by coyotes,
and a sudden rustle of the aspens.
Sleep severs our love affair
without warning and, worse, indefinitely.
Cool air. The sort my people label "brisk."
Down by the barn where an archaic
thresher lies useless, relegated to antique
decoration, Two crows chastise me:
"City girl, caw, caw. This is the country."
I tune them out and play a podcast about
spiritual enlightenment,
A talk by Ram Dass,
reminding us that security and god may
not go hand in hand.
My mind opens,
but only for a moment,
and then I must stop everything
to write a poem.
8.5.2015
Erin
