A September weekend: strolling through sunlight and the heat of summer returned. Two days and three nights unfold with the up and down flow of a rusty sun salutation.
I have been —
seed threading,
Salsa dance sweating,
listing forward,
old book borrowing,
tasting his replenished tapas,
arranging welcome repair,
election raging,
brunching with her mimosas,
water bird watching,
dining on duck,
sharing our life stories,
parsing the verb property,
nursing my knot of pain,
clinking her palmed crystal,
fracturing to write,
winding wooded aspen,
studying his cedar stairs,
listening for distant loved ones,
dirt digging,
cursing our climate change,
mapping Scotch eggs,
dreaming this river,
encountering them by chance,
sharing a poodle clutch,
sighting bearded bison,
feasting on pierogi,
mothering beloved memory,
uncovering care,
forgetting bad bits,
cooing at jouissance,
cataloguing gratitude.
No Gate No Lock 