the afterglow

In the after-storm brightness
the hush of tires on a wet road &
rufflefeather birdcalls from the
wet green leaves,
grey light
in the sky and the puddles
(that hold telephone lines and
faraway lands)

When I don't know what to do, lately,
I do something else:
put on some music & make coffee, or chai,
pick up a book,
put on some heels,
look forward to things
or not think about things at all -
and most of the time I am glad

And autumn is coming closer,
I think I can already feel it-
in the thought of wet leaves on the sidewalk,
friendly ghosts may be shaking my hand
under lamp-posts, and
the music for the end-of-summer festival
is right now being written

Think about something good, now -
a lightening, a hand-holding,
and the world through the window-panes,
changing as it's always been.
If ever I am sad I think
that this was a misstep, nothing more -
a set of lines uncrossing themselves.
Save it,
the moment -
and it will always linger, softly,
warmly in the afterglow