dash

Roof to Roof

Youíre off again, leaping from roof to roof,
and I in your wake, sweating. Whatís joy

to you is labor for me, and then, Iím afraid
to look down, worried about the tap-tap-tapping

of woodpeckers at the siding, or the drone
of wasps around their bulbous nest. We pause

by the eaves; you offer me a hammer and a glass
of wine. We trade eyes, and I see storm clouds

as they gather strength over the Dakotas. What
you see I can only guess, but itís making you

laugh, making you float into the upper branches
of cottonwoods, your mouth filled with the flavor

of this day. Already youíve made it crazier
than most. Only morning, but the seams have

ripped in this bag where we stuff the past.
We ride toward the future on the shadows of wings.

Steve Klepetar


If you have any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.

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