There’s your pretense
Like sterling silver
Something precious gilded
Onto something cheap
Giving it value
There’s your opinion
Ignorance bonded with
Idiocy there’s your
Charade incapable of
Explanation and instead
Showing hand signals
Like a third
Base coach to
A hitter now
I don’t even
Know whom I
Loved because you
Don’t seem to
Be true why
Must I settle
For your fuckery
Like a duck
On a pond
I spied you
There sitting in
The marsh pretending
To be the
Trees I heard
Your heart race
Smelling your breath
Fly I will
Giving you thrills
Shoot me you
May not because
I’m free you’re
The wet one
Pretending to be
Something else hoping
To take me
Down by surprise
I’m looking for
The wind something
Invisible that moves
Something stormy something
Chilling and something
Still I’m looking
For the wind
For my kite
Lifting lifting lifting
Me up to
Fly dodging about
In the sky
I’m looking for
The breeze on
Hot summer days
A friend that’s
With me always
This morning’s air
Hangs heavy and
Damp like the
Air in my
Mom’s kitchen when
She’s cooking filled
With the aromas
Of damp pine
And wet grass
Low sun bathes
Tall trees in
Yellow like creamy
Oozing eclair filling
While steam dances
Against my nose
From hot coffee
Like breath on
Cold winter days
Can a bird
Sing when flying
Or does it
Sit silent while
Wandering much like
You I wonder
Do you sing
Songs of me
When you’re fleeing
Or are your
Words only spoken
When you return
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 