O thank god

you’re finally here

to ferry us into the dark

filtered through the firs

to remind me of my greenness.

Everything is green

& blue
& yellow—

even my daughter’s open wound.

A cut on a scar on a knee.

I snapped at the kids

all through dinner—

irritated at the slight of my nose & jaw

on their faces. You saw that, right?

You were right there on their brows, pooled

in the dimples of their chins. I raised my voice

against my selves & immediately

apologized. I think that’s growth.

Is that new growth, old love?

Maybe that’s unfair to ask

of light.

After dropping off the kids,

I drove straight for the ocean.

Startled to have stopped, the shore

stippled in gold, I breathed in the salt

laced in gold. The driftwood got that shine

on it & broken shells flecked in gold.

Even the sea birds dipped in gold.

Everyone knows the trick of the golden

hour is that it all ends in dark,

but the part I’ll never forget

is the second before the sun’s final snarl—

ending with blood in the sky.