Which Is Where We Are Now

I left my apartment windows open
 — I am wild that way —
and the rainstorm ruined the place
 to teach me a lesson.
I caulked the cracks in the plaster
 and found patches from before.
I repainted the walls
 and noticed the hasty paint job;
 the corner’s curves giggled
  as I lay down the painter’s tape;
 my soul felt the healing
  of wet, tender bristles
  on the wood’s latex skin
  over cracks, bulges, bumps, and bends.
This place was alive
 with getting put together
 and falling apart again.
I beheld its incurable quaintness
 and brutal, undeniable charm.
Forlorn, I came to understand
 I would only add my own mistakes.
I lay in bed;
 the walls were mine.
The apartment
 an awning of wilderness.

So startled to see
 vibrancy:
the full tender flesh
of the flowers;
proud colors
present themselves
before the overcast sky
faithfully to the sun.
Fragile,
these fall days;
about to tumble…
 the wind wisps about me.
I see a tree struck
 by lightening;
a cloven branch clings to the trunk, 
its leaves at my feet, curling with burning crimson.
I gaze up and blink
at the tree’s green leaves.

Though it’s getting late in the day,
 shall I skip over to the lake?
My years do not count
 like those of a child.
I go to the lake, overjoyed
 to see the sun has not set.
The sunlight dances completely
 from one side to the other;
 the entire breadth is shimmering:
 the glory of the dancing sunrays on the water.
That is what these fall days provide:
 an extended lifespan
 and, then, to finally see
 the naked tree
 revealed in the light.