unknowing

Heart leaves near the Tennessee State Capitol Building.

I spent this summer softening,
saved peaches from birds and bruising - 
shared some with birds and ants still -
a little bit on purpose.

Up the street, I walked
desert hills, where afternoons baked 
my shoulders and gnats buzzed my ears -
I rearranged thoughts
because knowledge isn’t always knowing.

We skipped town -
flew like Tarzan and Jane through a jungle, 
fell backwards down a waterfall, danced drunk
on margaritas, thanked the Pacific Ocean
for doing as it does, holding
us for an afternoon.

We excused our messy floors and yard
and hosted anyway.
Perfection isn’t always perfect -
the sound of laughter at sunset is.

My ears and eyes woke to live music,
small stages, a dim concert hall 
filled with stars.
We swayed to guitarists
on rooftop patios, celebrated 
my nephew’s new cowboy boots.
On an unsure Sunday, bands played,
strangers bounced,
assuming connection
instead of accepting contempt.

We rented a house by a creek and filled it with friends,
navigated a slow, peaceful river,
dragged ourselves up and down mountains,
created circles, blew out candles and cackled.

We ended August by meeting a puppy
Its clumsy feet navigating grass,
following its siblings and trampling 
on playful parents -
What could be softer than that?

I spent this summer softening,
let fruit fall where it would -
ate my share over ice cream.

I spent the summer softening
I spent the summer softening,
because knowledge isn’t always knowing.