Mireille

14

Next Summer

ashes, toward the end,
fade away in a sprinkle of sparks—
next summer,
the bean pods are dripping honey,
and crickets chirp louder than words,
and you
are sneaking up behind me to ask
if i believe in ghosts and
dandelion wishes.
next summer,
daybreak is crashing
like waves over the mountains to the east
and the long-trunk trees
come dangling down from the sky like braids.
grass slapping at your shins,
and knotting my shoelaces
we stand by the beach, and i’m still trying to catch wispy moments in a jar,
and the sun is made of dull gold—
all of the sudden.
next summer,
your fluorescent eyes flicker next to me,
light a firefly glow,
and i'm wondering how i'm ever
going to get out of this place, as cottonwood
drifts
past my ear.
next summer,
i am grabbing the sun and peeling it like an orange,
next summer,
the birds are breaking through the window,
next summer,
the cackling wind takes my breath away,
next summer,
we are shaking the dim stars,
grasping for riches.
rhinestones
come floating down like
dust.