Balsam

Danielle Walczak  

 

My wish ring broke the other night

turquoise in the streetlight.

You gave the man five dollars and that was enough for him.

 

In carpeted brick bars and Alaskan day dreams

I am a dusty book

you, a candle

in a car at night you remind me of balsam.

 

Take that however you will.

 

Today we turned the heat on for the first time

It’s funny

how cold comes before the winter

and sun before

sleepy desires disappear.

 

In the morning sun

I am coffee-toned and autumn leaves

dreaming of hazy mountain tops.

 

Who was here first?

You? Me?

 

We follow a stream backwards

knowing the rain washes mountains to the sea.

Remember, when the trees shorten

to a magnolia skyline

the end of the tunnel is opened for

the wind to sweep us through.

 

Summits are not destinations and trails are not journeys.

Mountain is, and in it, there is enough.

 

It pertains to everything, if you let it.

 

Memories are pressed between tree rings.

On branches I want to be folded into a blanket with you

being kissed by the stars, which are closer from here.

 

listen

 

the leaves are applauding.