I've posted this elsewhere, but not at LC yet. Hope you enjoy... please feel free to comment!:
I have been trying for four nights
to describe the trees
night Lansing sky
my back porch
to speak in poetry
exactly how it feels
cliches of filigree
and dark arms
and trying to say "pink"
using any words
other than "pink"
metaphors
completely out of my reach like...
see?
Like metaphors.
brisk, lazy, real
like the scene
outside my backdoor
every night
An explanation is needed
because I am
this night, and hundreds before
they have soaked into my skin
freckles
pieces of sky flecked
on the star of my body
but that's not what
I meant to say.
"rose"?
this back porch
these trees
that sky
which is different in every city
every stop
different air
and the stars change
They do.
I would soak up the dark
and not be bright shining
oblivion and relief
from the All that I feel
Everthing
standing and observing
but mostly becoming.
"blush"?
My bed is behind
this wall
I can walk through the door
but the roof doesn't hide
the sky from me
or me from the sky
and dreams are too far away
crowded head
my hoodie pulled up
sacred cloak
with a two way zipper
orange,
just orange, not tangerine
or marigold, or anything
other than what it is
and maybe the sky is pink
and the trees filigree
black armsagainst it
and the moon I can barely see
have to be just that
because they are only
so much more.
