Between Draft and Landscape

It’s like that first draft—

You feel his imperfect fingers,

like strangers inching closer as the day draws.

On paper everything looks good,

But post date is, mmm— 01/20 or something like that

And I can see clearly now

The season doesn’t end in anguish if throughout this reign we can remain honest—

So honestly, in our most vulnerable moments,

Exposed to cold fronts and told that harsh winds are just par for the the chauvinists— a spar for the feminist, but—

Read as boldest.

Red in the face means head is holding

some weight.

You just need to lay things down,

Unsure at how that creates any space to stand out—

CONTROL OF THE NARRATIVE—

but at least make sure your picture accurately paints the unique landscape in tone.

Like soft hues of blue

and white and gold and

hold on dearly—

HOLD DEAR,

no, hold on dearly…

snow in palm

Gently packed, and rolled

Into a ball, reminding me of how something so gentle and soft can become so different

after all the exposure,

Outside elements.

Outside, the elements have turned into frozen features

and I just keep thinking of that, first draft

An exciting homage

To the coming season of closure and renewal.