Wildflowers

Toads croaked through the evening’s dew, Just beyond the darkness. I could picture them, sitting beside the bank. The mouths and chests heaving and emptying. I walked with my head to the pavement, as I always did. The sticky, southern air, pasting itself to my skin. I passed under the vine covered bridge, it’s years Long gone, bricks crumbled, weeds and Wild flowers taking their place in the cracks And sores. There was plague inside my chest, inside my beating heart. It lapped up happiness with it’s carnal tongue. I ran my hand along the fence, it’s chain-links whistling under my fingertips. There was a jitter in my soul, a shake in my eyes, always a tense muscle in my neck. Life never being still, calm, patient. Always chaotic, stressed, out of breath. Moments like these caught in between blinks, through the space inside breaths; There were moments of pure bliss. Calm, beautiful moments where chain-links whistled under my fingertips and toads heaved And wildflowers grew.