Sunday, September 21, 2003

Growing sunshine (is a hard job)
September 2003

A rattle is what I hear when I put my head to your chest
Heart beats and blood swims down your body and murmurs
Its alone path down into the blue light
Dust gathers in the corners of your stairs
Dust and pieces of yourself-
Fragments of breath, shards of sight, tangled wheels
Of your words that shimmer beyond your fingertips, your words
That dance and preen just beyond the enamel-shine pink and white
Nails that own your crooked fingers. You love a grey sky
But you grow sunshine inside, ladling it in small jars to
Use one by one to ward off your morbid, your cynic
And fill the space between yourself and the arm
You hold out .

Mina at 10:55 PM