(no subject)
as i stare at the world
though sun-kissed golden reeds
reeds that dance in a beautiful
disunity, colliding and separating
and once again meeting
in accordance to wind-song
i think that maybe this is the way
i've always seen it
because the sun gives everything a
more golden tint
and through slitted eyes
reality is a little out of focus
out of my line of vision
and i can peek through the reeds
and shut my eyes
and perhaps this photograph of the world
transforms in my head
and i remember the reeds a little
bit more golden that they really were
the sun a little bit warmer
and i don't think that
the weather reporters would like
that very much
nor would the six million Americans
clad in shorts and t-shirts and sun-glasses
who have been informed
that the sun is quite a bit warmer than it really is.
and i am hoping
that one day i will be able
to close my eyes
and the wind will transfigure in my head
and blow a little stronger than
i remember it - than it really is -
blowing me off the ground
into the higher fields above me
and into the sky
where i am not afraid
of transient weather patterns:
el nino
Hurricane Joe
northern fronts -
where i am not afraid
of falling
back to the ground-
or wanting to.
and perhaps this is where the sun really is a little warmer
the wind cooler, the rain stronger
the reeds like parched grass below.
and i am thus waiting for that glorious day
when i shall once again embrace the wind -
long-lost since childhood -
and allow myself:
to close my eyes
spread my arms
feel its pregnant whispers tickling my fngertips
my toes
my breasts
and float away.
eva
though sun-kissed golden reeds
reeds that dance in a beautiful
disunity, colliding and separating
and once again meeting
in accordance to wind-song
i think that maybe this is the way
i've always seen it
because the sun gives everything a
more golden tint
and through slitted eyes
reality is a little out of focus
out of my line of vision
and i can peek through the reeds
and shut my eyes
and perhaps this photograph of the world
transforms in my head
and i remember the reeds a little
bit more golden that they really were
the sun a little bit warmer
and i don't think that
the weather reporters would like
that very much
nor would the six million Americans
clad in shorts and t-shirts and sun-glasses
who have been informed
that the sun is quite a bit warmer than it really is.
and i am hoping
that one day i will be able
to close my eyes
and the wind will transfigure in my head
and blow a little stronger than
i remember it - than it really is -
blowing me off the ground
into the higher fields above me
and into the sky
where i am not afraid
of transient weather patterns:
el nino
Hurricane Joe
northern fronts -
where i am not afraid
of falling
back to the ground-
or wanting to.
and perhaps this is where the sun really is a little warmer
the wind cooler, the rain stronger
the reeds like parched grass below.
and i am thus waiting for that glorious day
when i shall once again embrace the wind -
long-lost since childhood -
and allow myself:
to close my eyes
spread my arms
feel its pregnant whispers tickling my fngertips
my toes
my breasts
and float away.
eva