Slips and skips from the lips, it
frees me from this bees’ nest wherein
barren technology stings and wrings
joy from the days, it plucks me from
the luckless hum of air conditioning
and fair renditions of elevator tunes
and spoons me into the bracing air
heart racing there and the snow falling,
flakes enthralling you, northern lights shine
above fragrant pines and then at last I rise,
the trees beneath the evening skies give way
so I may dream under unshackled stars,
cracked Mason jars preceding
fireflies’ freedom.
Halfway North 