The air felt like May, but the water
said it would rather be March.
They negotiated through a fog
that rose from the moors
and burned off in my lungs.
I ran past this mess of meteorology
thinking about mismatched love—
how you are the water and I am the air.
How spring’s lowest clouds can hide
the bloom of the Scotch Broom,
its bright yellow flowers invasive
yet inviting.
Jeff Krehely lives in Provincetown.
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