GRASPING  

it all came back when you
spoke the summer wind into
the night, stripping her
bare, heralding the end
of the world. and still it rests
like a heaviness stretching
itself across my skin, a
knowing that we failed to
discover but might still spill
from our hands: landing
as a feather, or the soft
changing of the season.

© 2006 Kevin Feeley