Rain Maker

you crush shadows
in the palms of your hands
overflowing from your fingers
reborn from your touch-
an endless spring
clear, wild & innocent
like fresh rain puddles
in the face of our quiet sun.

when you pin me in your arms
just as tightly –
i wonder where the darkness goes.

©️Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

i know you know –

i know you know –
the inability to understand
peace when the sun yanks
you from the cheap IKEA
coffin you built by hand –
alive but struggling to
breathe from last nights
dealings with death.
you were so sure
she’d find you un-moving
under the duvet –
heart stopped-
lungs restless-
pants full of shit.
but here you are
almost wishing it was real –
swallowing slow dissolving
sorrows – bitter. life saving.
i know you –
you’re getting tired.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Kaleidoscope

a child’s dream, we, rich
and imaginative,
culminate like shards
inside a kaleidoscope
breaking into millions
of colorful beaded
islands reflecting some
new thought we wanted.
a place to paint our faces,
to twist our fingers
in the grass like
the hair of lovers
buried and gone.
until it rattles in warning
like the tail of fevered snake
and the light turns to the red
flesh of an open palm.
we scream – a tiny collective
sound inside the tube of
the true nightmare
in which we ourselves
are trapped
and looked upon
by a large and
wrathful eye.

©️Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Under the Canopy

Blistering light –
love undaunted – inundated by
the burn marks on my heart.
I speak too much of the dark
days passing subtle
through your light
that I return bright even
when I am blinded by it.
What I mean is
you grow in me, like
forests kissed by sunlight
touched always with cool
shadow and warm
embraces.
The thought of losing
this engulfs the trees
in ash – gutters smoke
into punctured lungs
and leaves me barren
to a world lush
somehow without you.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

To My Bug

Undying light –
youth of a limited
eternity –
may you grow like oak
against hail storms spit out
into the air – or soft linen
in a cool stream.
Washed but free to wander
when the weather is clear.
I will uproot you,
asking forgiveness in
moments I regret
the process of aging –
fearing the memories
that will make you un-mine.
I cannot leave
until your happiness
is sewn into this quiet Earth –
the final ring inside my
brittle bark.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018  For my buggy