The Front Steps in Summer

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When everybody else has gone inside
And lightning makes the landscape come alive
Help my puddled self be satisfied
Don't take your hair down, don't decide.
You're everything I thought I used to be
And half a vacant stab at purity
Who lolls about uncovered on this lea
He carrots fate, he shrouds the sea.

Something in your profile keeps me warm
The comfort when it finally starts to storm
How close you pull when nature ‘round you swarms
And says "it's time you were unharmed."
This attic in our minds is mostly glass
And useless till our hands can find a hasp
The way your shoulders shudder when you laugh
It whispers "this, also, shall pass."

Is that a halo in your hair?
No other way that I'm aware
Evaporate me, scatter me into your lucid, perfumed air.

The rain's become an addled novelty
Like wayward ivy underneath big trees
But all your subtle electricity
Is slowly making me believe.

Our cups are empty — wasn't that the plan?
I think you know we're in the same quicksand
Yet I just sit here staring at your hands
Thinking about ampersands.

© 1997 John Brocato