this morning
I forgot to miss you
until your memory
came rushing back
like an unexpected
downpour, the dark clouds
of Carolina summer afternoons
rolling into my mind.
the storm cleared
just as quick as it arrived,
the sun making a show of
lazy blue hills on the horizon;
the story of you no longer
whispering poems
into my impressionable ear.
but the dirty wet pavement
glimmers and stinks of
tempests and nostalgia
and I am learning how
to be a poet with no muse















