Multivalent
The heat cracks
like an egg --
dust melting
at last.
So why do I miss
that sun
on my morning
so much?
Even as I luxuriate
in a hug of rain?
It's not that
I'm never happy --
It's that grief
vexingly
fulfills the good --
Like salt to butter.
Published by
Martha T. Terrell
© Martha T. Terrell and WordShelter.com, 2018 - 2025. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Martha T. Terrell and WordShelter.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
View all posts by Martha T. Terrell
WordShelter.com 
The butter will melt and fill in the cracks.
LikeLike