Back Around

“Happiness is the longing for repetition.” —  Milan Kundera 

Birthday Again

Rain’s back, redwood stumps sliding

further into duff.

Always this flow of getting older,

shirt clinging to skin, skin clinging as much

to the surface of wet air as chilled muscle.

All morning the rain vacillates

between downpour and a slow tapping.

Afternoon arrives, and the sun

is a bright bruising in the swell of clouds.

At dusk, limbs on a slope:

bare alders, bald cascaras, my arms

pulling in blueness, some starshine.

Outside, fallen water cutting ruts

awash in darkness.