The Moment Before Janet Arrive

I've never been comfortable in my skin
not ever, really.
But today,
​I sat quiet and still,
well planted and preserved
amidst mid-winter Salesian square.

Air was crisp and cold that day in February.
Silence cracked the window vein,
depleted of fresh oxygen and new blood.
Eyes agazing weathering winds,
trading solemn secrets by young saplings
and the older white oak trees,
leaned into wisdom most carefully.

Her leaves, round and pointed
running green, gently crackling mind
breaking through open-ended divination.
A freedom given to sunlit palms
sliding behind lowering lids of longing.
​
It's calm in here.
Behind the eyes,
in the wake of darkness-

Insight laid polished and poised,
those memories,
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
Parting thin layers of passing clouds,
to a stream of slippery, green frogs
Buried...
...Buried
Buried...
Just under; white, whistling winds,
whispering, wild wonderful wonders,
whirling will while weaving witty wiles, willingly-
​A comfort, but...
Are we ever really that comfortable?

- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 2020