Keep

Megan McLaughlin

In those soft, slumbering moments

of turned eyes 

when the slight match flame burns

–unbothered–

when untethered gales

settle

and curl

and count gathered tales

what do they remember?

This world is old,

and so is the jubilant breeze

easing days of dandelion wishes along

and so 

is the midnight song of sweeping owls,

half moon howls,

heaped on swathes of air alone.

Unseen,

and never quite known.

Is that a tragedy?

Darling wind,

I wonder,

have you ever pined for a home?

Nooks for sorrow,

room to mourn,

space to smile at 

starshine’s stored up whiles

–the kind only midnights

get to know.

Weightless wave 

of summer leaves,

cleave

of frigid dusk

and dust, 

and lullabies, 

and that one, 

last

look back

–was there any of it that you wanted to keep