Outside in the dark,
the sky still pulsing in the south,
bare feet in wet grass
as fireflies rise and toads sing,
leaps of consciousness
after a June storm.
Why not say
how the mind works,
so quick to fall backwards
into faces and kindnesses,
into touch and breath?
Naive I suppose,
subconsciously waiting
for more of the same
after all that has happened
and everything we need.
