Spring’s driving rains drops me off with a thud

into summer sunshine glare.

 

A shadow shrouds eyes of a beast

looking at me. He knows rain is like

gravity in this land of gray and green.

 

Sasquatch brims with confidence

of rain forest fulfillment.

 

I naively pretend

to not be refugee on the flee,

shielding eyes, sense dark certitude.

 

Seductive amnesia of flowers’ ambrosia

conjures dreams of vestal virgins racing

through flowery fields

thunderheads above.

 

I awaken with yearly surprise

as the now nurturing beast

lies down in a soft leafy bed

 

and I hate to admit

the sigh that I feel, as I calmly lay down too

 

as my transient ways gently fall into fall

and its welcoming womb

            …of wet.