Drowsy from reading, I stretch out on the bed,
near, but not touching, the cat, who likes her space,
and various pasts and futures fill my head
with thoughts, some welcome, others hard to face.
The window, left partially open, admits the wind,
and riding it in, the melodies of birds–
song that trills above the dishwasher’s din;
the thoughts stir feelings too difficult for words.
The approach of spring always creates
unstable emotions that swirl around and collide:
the wish for freedom bound up with the need to mate;
new dreams mixed in with fear that something’s died.
My love craves exposure, but I’m wary,
even though you’re just imaginary..
T. Allen Culpepper