Weather Vane

Mornings tend to be gray in fall
But we conversed in colors, some of them in warmth,
Like a collection of words that bore spring-time, once.

*

You proved my heart a weather-vane, capable
Of recognizing direction, assessing heaviness,
Separating distractions in the air.

*

It caught care and let weave through it
The unpredictable-ness of emotion,
In the tangled mess of your drowning, it breathed
As it had to, as it needed; never helped.

*

In the colors of our letters, weathers bathe
The words almost gasping, as if biting wind
In the fluent blither of our myriad thoughts
Expressed too soon, that we choke.

*

And when we choked, we choked in color, too,
But should we have let love bloom, in such muted hues?
The backdrop cold in the gray intercept,
Freezing eager half-smiles in the fading paint.

*

Yet, you proved my heart a weather-vane,
Left as weathered, as stricken by your hands.
You were gone eventually, but I’m still here:
And after years and years I still stand.

*

Mornings tend to be bright in spring
But we conversed in colors, some of them cold,
Like a collection of words that brought winter, once.

— A. P.

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