Pressing My Lips to the Equinox

The cicadas click crk crk crk and it sounds like summer though it’s only spring equinox, the noise and the heat only just unfurling, a butterfly moves past the kitchen window and hovers at the door and I get distracted wondering if it might come inside, I don’t notice I’ve been pouring hot water from the kettle down the side of my cup, a pool of water gathering on the bench. The days get longer and I get hungrier, I decide again each morning that I don’t want to be doing anything other than writing, and sitting in the sun, and writing more, but each morning I get up all the same and leave the house and spend a blue skied day moving things around on a blue screen, wondering whether my hunger will consume me in time for me to sink my teeth into anything worthwhile or whether I’ll be taking small licks of things like cicadas clicking and the butterfly visiting just to keep me going or whether I’ll be pressing my lips against the kitchen bench to slurp up the spilled water like it might quench the desire for something more, something worthy of a spring equinox blue skied day. The days get longer and I finally get to see the apricot light hitting the walls of the living room in the late afternoon, it’s been months since we last met, filtered through the leaves that hug the back deck the shuddering light is a projection on the walls, clicking through scenes of a sinking sun and leaves in motion and the crk crk crk is the lens clicking into place crk crk crk, light on plaster captured for the hour and then it’s gone, slinking away into a sultry night, slurped up by the indigo skies and the eclipsed moon who knew a beautiful thing when they saw it, knew a thing worth consuming.