Sunday, March 28, 2010

Love eye green morning sun


I watch my breath
on the window, like it’s an old tree
with branches swaying.
Despite the sun and
the shadows shot from
its radiance,
the air is ice
and the dirt is numb.

My feet have fallen
out of love with the floor.
Lusting for a shower, warm
like summer mornings,
I crawl down the hall
and hear the echoes of
my goosebumps following me.

Are my eyes more green in your memory
or in a mirror?

Soap suds pool around
my feet, foaming
like the ocean
through my toes.
The steam
soaks up and replaces
the salt in my skin.

So few things happen
simultaneously—
or so I thought.

Again, my bones feel
like branches snapping
under snow.
The only way to dry
is back in bed,
curled up, away from the world.
If I calm the chatter in my teeth
I can conjure up a raft for my sea.

Are my eyes more green in the dark
or in a dream?