fly away

poem by me: end of the drought

come and wash away
the old and dusty summer
that coats
my eyes and throat
like stale frustration
or dull rage.

make me ready
for the falling leaves and snow,
the slow
creep of green
against the damp black earth,
and the return of shimmering heat
once more fresh and full of fierce joy.
Wow, I totally didn't notice that when I wrote it, but you're right! That's something I love about writing--when people find stuff in it that you didn't realize was there when you wrote it.