Hellebore on a Summer Day

A subtlety, when noticed, is never too hard to

un-notice. Nothing like a dense summer,

collective sweat sheen, that brief vapour

all condensed into the scene.

Then, the soft prick;

frayed fabric hook with its sharp licks so

sporadic, so consistent.

A fleeting litany.

Many subtleties, when noticed, are never too hard to

un-notice. See, the thread caught on my sleeve,

scraping my skin, tickled to an anxious itch;

all inconsequential lint.

It is the sweat on a frustrated brow.

(I said) Let it flow down

past the shutters, past the mind, to the ground.

There’s nothing to feel now.

The most common subtleties, when noticed, should be

unnoticed. But the indescribable itch

is all spidery nerves, lacerating burns.

Remind me where it yearns.

Fraught fingertips beating with regularity,

tipping into my unconscious calamities.

I just want to be

wrapped up safely where everything means nothing;

where nothing means anything

to me.

(please)

I wish subtleties, when noticed, could be easily

unnoticed. Nothing like a deep hellebore,

full bloom on a hot summer’s day,

that wakes me up again to see the Today.

Out the window, in all its 

purplish gleam, starkly alive

against the pallid snow, sighing to the

whispers of winter trees

and all their leave-less 

subtleties.