The week before monsoon hangs heavy.
We wear the air like a woolen blanket in midsummer, smothering our logic.
You, you flawed genius, when the heat takes you to your crazy place,
you are a madman, a jewel thief
secretly adjusting the gas taps of my equilibrium.
That lightning storm in your brain takes your logic
and skews it, making me your enemy.
When the mania takes you, for survival’s sake my mind retreats
to the shade of the creek
my psyche dives down beneath its cooling waters.
I am diving down, down dark deep
where the chaos of your words cannot reach me.
Drifting in bottle-green silence,
limpid light cushioning my journey down.
I am a mermaid
my tail flicking aside your anger
which slides off my scales like oil.
Lungs blooming with pinon-scented air I dive
dipping beneath your harsh words
entering that sedated world where time slows
dream-like I pull through still water
hunting for jewels
while you rage above, your words a vicious deluge of irrational hatred.
Two or three days I lie,
breathing, only when I must, through the hollow reeds of my despair,
body wrinkled with submersion and my mind
cold-water saturated, on ice
until the storm passes, and the wildfire is done.