When robbed of context, coffin-skies affixed
Above a vivid terrace seem to be
A buttress -- gray desaturation mixed
With echoes, breathing, "You can lean on me --
Supporting you is how I keep this green."
The terrace at its feet is clouded over
With fiercely-vibrant life, an in-between
Pastoral, neither cold nor vast, a rover
That strays not, speaks not, stays not on its way
Through this worn-down cathedral. It all seems
Unreal -- cracked-granite skies in newsprint gray;
Essential grass, creation-hued; twin dreams
Co-mingled sans a chaperone, each frame
One moment unawake, each drawn the same.
1 comment:
Sunday afternoon in Seattle in my sister's garden, where I noticed how startlingly green the grass appeared despite how startlingly black-and-white the clouds looked. I finished this on the airplane home.
Post a Comment