New England Weather

[Written for poetry class]

I found it so amazing
that these particles could
hang
suspended in the air,

shining like dust.
On second thought,
I take another look.
They’re falling as haphazardly as I am.

Weather, I salute you—
I know your snow,
New England—
your rain, your fog,

the mud puddles
on the sides of the road,
your indescribable
summer glory days

that Adam would recognize.
I get caught up in them,
thinking that the trees and
breezes and leaves are mine,

something I can
hold.
You come back to me.
I make sure not to miss

those long walks in
a cotton tshirt
down dirt roads with
a glowing green canopy,

because then I think
I’ve captured something permanent
in the sense that it always
returns.