i would have stayed
the grit of the wind
the fireworks of transformation twice over
the pieces of rain cool and heavy
the brown glass toast, and not shatter, against the curb
i have stayed for all of that
Through the curtain of golden curls
I can see us hiding in the bushes,
Spying on the sun.
My fingers pull at the rainbows in the grass
Like a child sulking, post-tantrum
But never post-temper. At your
Side I watch the shape shifting
Clouds in your blue skies.