Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed

Rise and shine, you morning birds

That’s the fantasy

It’s every morning

The zombies rise from their crypts

And brew their coffee

Here it is, again

Ghost of emotions long dead

Why do you haunt me?

An ice-cold pickle

Salty, crunchy, delicious

Hot summer evening

Leaves cling stubbornly

To the branches they call home

‘Til it’s time to go

Blue light filter on

To protect my eyesight from

Waiting on your text

Touch of the abyss

Sharp and piercing and so cold

How can words be so

You hear how they sing?

Lonely, hopeful cicadas

A ceaseless love song

Dancing across tongues

And drying out open mouths

The sweet summer air

Crystal clear rivers

Running through gentle valleys

Unobserved by man