has its kinks, backwashes, rips.
Salty spark of a morning kiss remembers better, wonders if it’s good enough.
My morning commute stops off the dike road. A dinosaur- evolved bird
skewers its prey holding fast its space in time.
The fish line severs, drops
in beads of unrealized roe.
Stretching her lovely growing
my ten o-clock rests her tresses
on my therapy couch, mimicking a history
she doesn’t know.
I thought I was getting sick, she tells me,
Now I know, I’m just growing up.
Aged ills and I sit across from her collecting insight.
Off the rings of Saturn, a PBS evening Star Gazer
muses that time moves in linear threads that curve.
I question if
I’ve seen this episode before.
The night breaks in a porcelain vat
light splitting spacetime
in refractions off a soap bubble.
The present loops past the future
my newly hatched
splash in bathtub waters.
Elizabeth Mathes is a counselor who specializes in autism. She is married to a music educator and composer. They have a 29-year-old adult son with low-functioning autism who lives with them. She is often inspired to write on daily walks with her son amid the North Idaho alpine and glacial beauty.