the Summer Lark

about an ex with a beard and the memory of our summer love that is constantly singing to me.

when summer stops by,
a lark on his song flight,
passing through
just to say hi,

my face unwinds to a calm
and i think i'm smiling,
but i'm not.

a gift i give thee,
a brazen trickery.
the sun's eyes dancing on the water,
"this could mean something."

yes, sir
i salute.
i am, oh captain,
good sir,
who rises above the swells of ocean's madness
and craze,

feeding me, i am a baby
and the good sir cradles me.
calm! i shout to the sea

and reach to touch the wild that blankest a face
i cannot see.
a sucker for threads
touching my lips.
ocean's eyes staring, perplexed.

the lark on his song flight-
a weeping willow he sings that i am
(an idonious sway about my lacking frame)
i am saddened,
i am.

and so birth myself into a hawk
and rise above, high above
to hear the game,
his summer song coursing my veins.

i do not believe god intended for me to be so afraid.

to find the the lark lurking,
i plunge and prey.