the days pass over me
face up, hair flowing downstream
between rusted shopping cart and old lawn chair
after half a lifetime of breaking my own heart, I find
peace among the pieces cast away
with every spring flood I smooth a little more and
bury bruises beneath layers of silt, but
August parches dry my sanctuary,
baring to the light all these regrets until
cracks bleed tears to feed the flow
when crimson spreads like a disease
dead leaves come falling, blanket me
winter pushes cold and driving rain
and once again interred
I watch the world through watery veil and
wait for time to freeze
Aly Writes 