As Seen From Above
        (for P.W., August 11, 2006)

While your mind is singing
the only song you know,
I'm folding the sun into drapes,
the drapes foreclose
on the lawn. You make a tent
            of your hands,
protect me From the elements.
In your palm, something along
the lines of a future tense.
I was the girl in a paragraph
of a simpler time—where words
were considered monuments.
Your face is lined
            as a roadmap, but. your fingers
tell a different story. When I can't think
sitting down, you whistle to lighten
the load—a bird's song emerging
            after heavy rain.
All our belongings like luggage
thrown off a ship. The pillars of shadow
are tender oil thighs and elbows.
Our mouths are housed
under one roof. We're wayward
pilgrims looking for the one window
light that calls us home.

Tweet

Copyright © 2014 Cynthia Atkins All rights reserved
from In the Event of Full Disclosure
CW Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission