Oh, Behold Her Climate
Oh, behold her climate—
a process of caution
that once was meant to be dreamed upon,
yet somehow seemed edible at this time.
I will taste her.
A simple taste of marvelous
was exposed so far in thought.
And at hand,
a warm charm of blue misery
assumed its perfection.
Turning that night in close,
the end of her word
was not known so well in love.
Testing her climate,
the sweet old berry road
seemed to be all feed.
Oh, jarred in night,
yet exposed on trout
for an open sea.
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Read Next: Oh, My—A Cloud & Thunder
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In the hush after “Oh, Behold Her Climate,” I keep circling that dangerous, irresistible weather of her—a living atmosphere you can almost taste, crafted to linger the way all independent Letters from Xhale pieces are meant to breathe on.
