On muggy summer nights
without air conditioning
it’s so hard to find just
the right, light blanket.
I want something like the moss
bordering a stony path,
blurry verge of all that flourishes
without our say-so,
a fresh fuzz so minute
one forgets that it is after all
made up of individuals,
each of which will in time
sprout green feathers
of dubious utility, learn
to save & spend slowly
in a time of drought
& wait for its own turn
in the common bed.
*
Just a reminder that submissions for the next issue of qarrtsiluni, The Crowd, must be in by Wednesday.