In the north, the light is clear and thin,
scoured of smoke and clouds,
of his cologne and my onion rings.
I can see each blade of grass,
each pebble nestling by the house,
each streak of red in the tulip.
I smell lilac in the cool wind.
Salt blows in from
the ocean below this cliff.
I taste nothing. I taste everything.
I take a drink
of cool, clear water.
I hear music from the houses.
Carpenters keep the beat
to songs of summers past.
In this spring I feel summer coming.
Marianne Szlyk is the editor of The Song Is... Her second chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, was published by Flutter Press. Recently, she was artist in residence at The Wild Word. She encourages you to send work to her magazine. For more information about it, see this link: http://thesongis.blogspot.com/.