Fridays open up
into brighter weekends
for song birds living on the edge–––
time frays, finally letting go
of what structure we thought we had
between our bones, between our hopes
for dreams that may, one day, come true.
Fridays open into me
and the tree that still gives shade
in the fall, although the winter not at all–––
today feels frigid to me,
even with my Friday warmth.
I can only pray for peace again,
in the opening of faulted paths and fields
I can see and smell all at once,
because the sky is open–––
like my heart on Friday.
August 12, 2014