Before Morning Glows

Pallid gray-blue light pours in through the glass

Infant day, just rising from it's womb

Your otherworldly glow seizes me

I sit transfixed

Floating amidst your chilly indigo atmosphere

Body still, soul trembling

the first bird, crooning faint melodies

But not disturbing the haunting hush

Every note piercing the engulfing fog around me

For angst or weariness

I retreat down the nebulous hall

To curl up, find sanctuary

Waiting for the sun to grow more radiant

And burn the fondant from my mind


Light the Mind

My soles have scraped the terrain of countless lands
Foreign dirt and stones
Dialects roll confidently off of my tongue
Like the sapphire waves
That break on these tropical coasts
Where the sand crept between my toes

When earthly vistas are muted
I soar at my inclination
Ascending to the clouds and azure
Where I can extend my arm
Running my hand softly 
Across the swallows plumage

Beyond, perforating the skin of the earth
In the icy black hush of the universe, I hover
And take a shimmering star from the cosmos
Held in my pocket, an illuminated souvenir

Even with ceaseless wandering
I grow lost, seeking self
Germinal with pen, and other paths
Heartening sprite, emerge to spur
A muse to rectify and guide


Fade

(On Van Gogh)

I look back at the petite farmhouse on the fringe of the land
Cherry colored paint chipped and slowly flaking away
As all else does
Faded and weathered as I am
Ahead, all gold
The field, a burning yellow sheet
Boundless and stretching all around
Crowned by the green haze of the sky
Dimming as another knotty day drifts by
With every breath the wind takes, wheat gently tosses from side to side
And with every gust that brushes against my face
I take a raspy breath as well

My soiled, calloused hands reach down to touch the soft wheat
These stalks know nothing of the perpetual trials of life
Of the sweat I've poured
The vitality exhausted every day
Any sense of identity, siphoned into the loam beneath my feet
It is not all that I am

But I gaze upon this glowing field, and I am envious 
I wish to rustle freely in the calm breeze
To sprawl carelessly, rooted to the earth
I wish to be stripped of garb, or burden
To grow deaf to the echoes of the plows and machinery
I grasp the brim of my hat
Slowly pulling it down past my eyes
My mouth tastes the salty brine of my toils
As it rolls down my face
I lie in repose