solastalgia

i’ve seen no ice this winter
no frost-breath in the storm
no glass-puddles in the gutter
for it’s been far too warm

we choked in smoke all summer
now dead leaves fill the yard
it’s fifty-degree December
and it’s hard, oh lord it’s hard

when drought lies on the highlands
and hurricanes lash the coast
this planet, fragile island
turned on and left to roast

it’s not what you imagine
it’s not some feeble moan
they call it solastalgia
they call it the loss of home

Solastalgia

Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside