November 21, 2019

• seeming

  

   

  let's state the obvious:
  snow snows on the balcony.
  wet tree trunks seem to wait
  patiently in the cold,
  and poetry is obviously about seeming.

  inside a dream, you dream
  the snow scattered on the frozen ground
  is scattered on the dark horses
  of your bones

  and you wake inside the dream
  holding a piece of white paper
  painted green as a grove
  where blood oranges
  are ripening in the silence

  you shovel a path through
  midnight
  bells jingle on the horse harness
  you are married
  and you and your husband and the kids
  disappear into a poem written
  on snowy paper which is the forest
  where you are going
  to cut your christmas tree

  but what you are standing on
  is a dreambank
  and what you are hearing is
  wet tree trunks
  and dark horses
  cracking
  under the weight of the snow

  • 6:03 am
  • Comments Off