City of Two Climates
Our city of two climates where beached debris congeals into garden walls. Wildlife thrown together with cuts of cloud broiled over raindrops. Our dreams aren’t as morbid as first suggested. The linguistics applied stippled the winter clouds, warming the atmosphere, but leaving morphemes suspended in a spiky haze. I avoid tornados by hiking between the narrows, fleeing behind walls, losing relevance, and my place between seasons. All the while you stand above vegetable patches on higher ground, lines of trees obscuring views. I retreat to edit words, like a relationship councillor unknotting events too minimal to include in draft form.