Anything can happen
anytime she wants—
normal means nothing now
as the blade retreats
within itself by dusk,
tender green fades to brown
on naked hillsides
weary with the day—
not morning fresh:
ground damp with dew
and darkened rest to reach
deeper into the soil.
We are not in love
nor casual acquaintances,
but bound to her nature—
an unpredictable disposition
with certain privileges—
with certain dues to pay.
drycrikjournal 