No Othering

We must sit alone through This
No one has our back

Not forsaking sunlight then
Nor the sturdiness of these vintage legs

Doors behind us closed, by intent
Facing East, where will our colors lead us

What mystery does the morning hold
What certainty does twilight promise

Those Colors Again

Stairs 
Steps
Stacks of grand books
Her hands reaching out
Sometimes there’s someone to grab them

White
Brown
Body unclothed
Her tears crying out 
Never there’s anyone aware

Flying 
Soaring
Feet on the ground
Her mind reaching out
Always there’s nobody who’ll speak