Laying
Not-so-regal on the half-couch
Feed me grapes
Amongst sun-bleached pillars
Pay attention to the summer freckles on my nose
Please, not the fires in my eyes.
Study me like art
Please, miss the mark.
Interpret.
Assign me anything but me.
The room is actually quite dim
I’m sure a sunset is brewing outside.
Beside me, a blazing arch of light.
Around my room, a thousand rocks I’ve collected
They’re familiar, and warm.
Don’t mind the weight, please
Falling
Deep into the threads and fabrics
I never learned how to sew
Please, weave me, knit me—I am the thread
Form me
Into the power lines stretching outside
Into the red-toned leaves,
or the green ones, just across the street maybe.
Into infinite roads, into slippery gravel on a hill
Into the fern, the snail, the water.
Weave me into these curtains
Into that merciless pillow.
Into dirt, and slush, and the salt in the ocean.
Into that raven, just over there, into the driftwood washed ashore and the rattlesnake under the ground.
Knit me into time—maybe I’ll finally understand it—into the crumpled five-dollar bill for the vending machine.
The cacti, the venom, the marshes, the owl.
The blazing and scorching fire, the ember, the spark.
Into harsh metal, into forgiving sand.
I hope I won’t mind.
What we know is what we see.
What do I know?
What do I see?
I’ve turned around
On that marbled couch.
The museum is ruined.
But now I can see
It was golden for a moment or five
A wash sprayed on the leaves, the breeze, the wood, the air.
Now a cloud has covered the sunset.
Eat some grapes
The powerlines, the trees, the leaves – maybe you’ll see the gold come back.
But from where I lie
Here and now
It is still so beautiful.