I dreamed one night 
of a field of violets,
under a golden sky.

The flowers 
glistened with dew,
like they were covered 
in sugar crystals.

The next morning,
early,
a straight-line storm 
hit our city.

The sky turned deep yellow.

Trees were splintered 
on the ground,
and homes 
I passed by all my life,
and thought, one day.

The power was out 
for a week,
in temperatures 
over a hundred.

Seven people died.

I never dream 
of violets anymore.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Winter once was without perimeter

a month-less time until March and the Ides

when things with fur woke and made more things with fur

January and February were later additions

named for the gods we also invented

but we live now in a season-less time

there are less things with fur and the stars are all darker

the trees look away because we break their hearts

and we invent gods that will fit in our pocket.