Sunday, April 28, 2013

April 28th

This is not the poem I wanted to write. I can't seem to write the one I want to write, but oh well. This is what came out.


the world awash in light

woven round me in bright bands

fallen open, spinning past

resting on the surface

so soft my skin I feel the barest bruise

sunk down into it, made up of it

breathing through it.


life is pulled up with me

drawn up past the boundary


full of flame resting on the still water

my self a mirror

a bright and private room

I wake within and know you.