April 2020
![](https://bornwilder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/April9-768x1024.jpg)
the “fuck it” feeling.
It comes right before
turning up the music
and drowning out all
that is not rhythm.
![](https://bornwilder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/April10-768x1024.jpg)
sounds its way
through an intersection–
a hello, a warning,
an “I’m here, I’m here”
echoing into the vacant night.
It’s quiet here,
the occasional muffler,
a quick stomp on the gas pedal
but mostly frogs and crickets,
thunderstorms that rattle
my bones back to the days
when I could stay in bed
all day pairing my heartbeat
with every crackle.
![](https://bornwilder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/April23-768x1024.jpg)
in the grass underneath
the bird feeder–I catch
a glimpse of hope in their eyes
and wait for their gymnastics.
![](https://bornwilder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/April27-768x1024.jpg)
from room to room
but it’s all I ask–
forward momentum
and a chair by the window
sprinkled with light.
![](https://bornwilder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/April28-768x1024.jpg)
and don’t believe
it will end, like the long days
of infancy where weeks
are years, and moments whittled
to fine points of weariness and awe.
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