Endless May

(6)

There was always something strange about her,

the way that she drank whiskey

because she liked the way it was spelled,

how she slept without a pillow,

and fell asleep outside in a hammock all night.

She was the type of girl that would laugh at the world,

pick at humankind,

and argue about an animal's wellbeing.

She's the girl that would sit in the corner at a party,

but dance and sing around a bonfire.

She liked sailing the great Michigan lake,

but respected the secrets of the ocean.

She is a wild weed,

not a dandelion,

that he couldn't pluck and blow out.

He couldn't pull her reins,

they were already too far loosened

at a gallop near nowhere but forward.

And he couldn't try.

Wayland.