Playing The Field

A GOOD ENDING

Wanted to start something, soft and gentle
like picking out notes on a piano,
one by one, building something I once heard,
wished to hear again but couldn’t
remember where I was when it cried out to me.

The place didn’t actually matter, it was
a field with flowers, soft as the people around,
padded out with well-wishing, those
who wanted me to play well, to rise like
soft, warm dough their love resembled.

All my life I’ve been mercury, a measure
of the temperature, a hard metallic thing,
but this stark summer has separated me
into all these playful silver balls, shimmers
running away from solidity, blossoming.