Tuesday, February 21, 2017

What the dream sees as it awakes

She insists the narrative won't become clearer.  She won't put on a sweater.  She won't remove the pearl necklace.  She refuses avocado for the third straight day.  She knows time is never straight, bends away from light.  Bends into the dark.  She mourns that red coat with a black velvet collar. She pines for a persimmon.  She becomes impatience for asparagus.  She knows she will never own another red coat with a black velvet collar.  Now she knows why every dark moon will speak her name as if the title of a poem.

1 comment:

  1. Jazz for the Occasion (6)

    It is not the path, it is the walking. Today's walk, down the pier. Past the couples. Peanut butter and jelly combo in my pocket. My friend Bix at the other end. Timed to coincide wit the afternoon shaft of light. How much to complement before one circle is complete? My head aches with the desire to hear music, freely scramble eggs, peel fruit for the morning.