Poem: Swollen Day
By: Terry Brix
Day started with a hot coal ember sunrise wedged
between trunk and limb of Lodgepole Pine,
streaks and herds of black gray buffalo clouds
trampling the blue making white cloud dust.
All day snow, rain and hail playing
paper, scissors, rock with the earth,
midday rain, thunderstorm rivulets
to manhole-cover-moving flood bursts.
Afternoon spent nestled with you
watching mutual heaving chest walls
nipples pointing at stars yet unseen
in the expanding universe of us.
Miss the swollen days where just a hint
of light, drop of rain, turn of a bare ankle,
ballooned, swelled to a full fledged adventure
of how to find mystery in each other.