Dusk blues the rain damp hills.
Trees lean into the landscape,
their shadows tumbling
into dark.
The June you feared
Blossoms into uncertainty,
into a June of no answers,
early cicadas, the late mayfly
facing you through the glass.
This is the June of aimless walking,
the trumpeting of the crow,
fluting frogs,
bats stirring the sunset yolk.
This is the June of walking with fireflies
when the incandescence of the heart
finally burns.
You stride across sour grass
flickering lost details
at the orange edges of memory,
illuminate for yourself
with each blink of the eye
what you were thin, what you are now.