When they enter
my brain the grass
greens past its prime.
Sky, blue, now total
sun. In the lake, the kids
say stay, watch over us
their water wings cool
tongues against my limbs.
Later, in the hot tub
my half skull soaks
before slinking
to a dark room.
The cure for pain
is inside the crane
that drifts heavy
over the house.
Men used to call
a headache
a whimsy.
Image Credit: Crane, cherepovets / Wikimedia Commons.
