What color is it
That perfect depicts
Exhaustion of speaking to walls
The tone of tea-wash
The gloss of green bog
The palette of pinesnake’s slow crawl
It is and must be
The khaki-grey knees
The clear jades convinced hope stands tall
But could it be right
This midnight blue might
Be black and be white after all
I’m faded away
My honesty, sweat and blood
I am wasn’t there
it is complete
it goes ’round and around
and it binds and bounds
encircles, ensnares
’til it brings
good hearts downthe rodeo clown
tires not from attempts
to dissuade to distract
to destroy
the bolting and bucking
the fall of reason
Yes the nothingness
I’ve shouted deep into it
I’ve heaved the gauntlet
The windows open.
All night. The moon stakes its claim.
Not a sound. Not one.
Numbers why numbers
Why not your skin on my skin
Notwithstanding words
The need to be not stricken
By the simplest song’s every low, strummed string
The imagined scent riding the gentlest breeze
The hop, hop, hopping of some creature’s feet
Is great
Is doomed
Be fifteen
That in-between
And do not care
What snarled your hair
The where your walk
Or when
Be then fifty
That year of glee
And reminisce
What life’s half-kiss
The who your smile
Or why
One day
You’ll slink your hand across my rib cage
Grab ‘hold of my strength and sigh
You’ll make this all right
One day
The future I see
Blue-green against the silver
The gratitude years
LisaRosier.com 