The Moment Before Janet Arrived

I've never been comfortable in my own skin
not ever really but today,
I sat behind the wheel quiet and still,
well planted and preserved
in the driver's seat 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 gazing weathering winds,
trading solemn secrets by young
sapling trees and older white oak leaves
leaned into wisdom carefully.
Their distinct round lobed leaves
running green, rustling through breaks
in open-ended divination yet, freely given
to warm, amber-yellow palms sliding down
and behind lowering lids of long, dark lashes.
​
It's calm in here...
Behind the eyes,
in the light of darkness-

Insight laid polished and poised
on sapphire brimmed sophistication
Those memories,
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
parting thin layers of passing clouds,
while a stream
of slippery green tree frogs chimed-
Buried...
...Buried
Buried...
Just under; white, whistling, winds,
whispering wild, wonderful wonders,
whirling willpower while weaving witty wiles,
willingly-
BUT
Are we ever really that comfortable?

- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 2016