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"Three Seasons of Daytime"
a poem by Jonas Peterson
It was the silent recess of night
the record hissed and jumped
running too far past the final song
the wineglass leapt for carpeting;
I touched a shoulder smooth like glass,
the wind held back an expectant breath
“at last!”, it whispered outwards, “at last!”It was early risen morning
And the dew was sliding inwards
down the hill into the garden
like a cold and trickling army
the sky was streaking rose and blue
I’d awoken just to touch you
the sparrow bit it’s tiny tongue
released a gasp, “at last!”It was captured in the daytime,
Sun waved wind, so breezy
Grass was tickling the sky’s feet
Our summer came so easy
I touched you on the prairie
A song was heard just barely,
We have a song to sing, “at last!”
“A song to sing at last!”Alas, I have a poem to write…
You won’t be here tonight.
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