The fallen leaves
of a sheltered tree
form a shadow
made of yellow,
a pointillist shadow
painted yellow,
‘til the wind blows
angled and low
to send that shadow
on its way -
or ‘til the leaves
turn brown and crisp…
whichever comes first.
The sun is out after
days of gray,
and no fog or cloud stands
in my way
of seeing skies of blue.
I see the lazy sway of trees across the way. And I'm lulled into trance by their languid leafy dance. And for the time I've lost there must be some unit cost. Or, perhaps, only gain. There was no angst or pain... only lost moments.
my mind snapped with attention rapt staring out into the world i'd hoped for the best devoid of sweet rest, despite being fetally-curled where was the shore? or the thirteenth floor? they were absent in life & in dream i searched all about, calling names out, but all I heard was a burbling stream but with no water - just someone's dear daughter wading out on bone-bleached rocks she seemed to know all like how we all fall, and who keeps the keys to the locks but I was tied down screaming at clowns, too far gone to see her wind-blown hair what pulled me out? not a shake or a shout, but some stuttered nonsense of prayer
Living like a Morlock, outside the shaft of light. Lured beyond walls of rock. Mesmerized by blue sky. Loving the thought of blue, but burnt by the mere sight. Praying for an Eloi view, but feeling it's not my right.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 