Whispers

I feel that cold December morning and see its clouds
I bask in the watery clouds of a March late afternoon
I simmer in the hot August afternoon
I dance in the warm May breeze
I listen to the leaves flutter in October
And still I am melancholy
Because all these days live in my memory
Crowded and alone among the detritus of ugly thoughts
Sighs and cries and whispered beginnings vie for my time
As I wish for relief from purloined anxiety
There is nothing from nothing
But everything alive
Somewhere there is a chilly November night
Somewhere else a rainy April at noon
There is water and beer and tea and milk
And always the flow of mud
How does it happen that minds grasp so desperately
And find so much more than they bargain for?
Like snow and rain and heat and wind and
People long dead
Rough seas