Straight on Till Morning

The wind rushes past me 

Whipping my hair into knots 

Pushing me with it's palms out

Hard and cold 

And howling 

Like an old valley spirit

With all its wrath.

I almost feel I could fly 

If it would just give me 

One more push

But it never does

And still my feet stay 

Anchored.

I can't jump high enough 

To reach the sinking moon but 

I try sometimes 

When church bells ring softly

And remind me of 

That old tire swing.

Lonely streetlights glowing 

Dim and yellow

Long past midnight

In the heavy mist. 

Cedarwood, garden posts

And the green snakes 

Under red logs, fallen tin fences

With the smell of coffee and 

A muted conversation.

I almost feel I could fly.