Visions
The tree outside is perfectly still
—in that it wobbles
around the outline--
The stillness of something not quite there
Existing in the pause between seconds.
Images
slip like that too
Hovering about the frame;
Light through the window a moment
Imprints the room in red
—and my eyelids when you’re gone--
And for days we see framed clouds blinking
But like evening primrose the mind blooms
only a moment
Then settles into stillness
And soon, searching with hazy arms,
Visions disappear:
The world shrivels under scrutiny.
But, sometimes, in the moments just before sleep,
Like snow drops they slip up from the ashes,
Planted and forgotten.
The tree outside is perfectly still
—in that it wobbles
around the outline--
The stillness of something not quite there
Existing in the pause between seconds.
Images
slip like that too
Hovering about the frame;
Light through the window a moment
Imprints the room in red
—and my eyelids when you’re gone--
And for days we see framed clouds blinking
But like evening primrose the mind blooms
only a moment
Then settles into stillness
And soon, searching with hazy arms,
Visions disappear:
The world shrivels under scrutiny.
But, sometimes, in the moments just before sleep,
Like snow drops they slip up from the ashes,
Planted and forgotten.
