j o h n  r o s

and then it rained, or something like that. they were always so focused on the weather, like the only ‘good weather’ was sunny and eighty degrees. when i said i like the rain and snow they looked at me and wondered what was wrong with me. hell, i wondered what was wrong with me.
it was afternoon and the warmth reminded me of spring. it was all wrong — autumn was entering not spring. body twisted, back arched, feet flat — i sat confused. twisted too, the memories as dreams. filtration of what happened, what i wanted to happen and what might possibly happen. still twisted, i awoke, made coffee and slipped into the warm blackness of winter for a moment. the moment passed and it was summer again.

on the walk around the island — île d’orléans — i watched the silence.
dust was silent as it hit the road — passed by so many — the ancient canadians — aux anciens canadien — my québécois — and her and me.
waiting from the past time there — passed time so soft and memories of the warmth — the soft.
the beauty that could be filled — that might not — that was.
from the laughter in the solace and quiet — the silence — i again sat twisted — contorted — and still, at ease.