sunlight tipped the tops of tall grasses
paint brushes drying in the slow summer wind
the canvas was the eyes of the children
on the second story of the farmhouse
at the window watching the sun set
what the horizon now effused
a radiance of colors unlike any spectrum they knew
from the city where the sky was smoke
and the ground was rust stained cement
or rainbows from oil on black asphalt
a hot wind pulled along by faceless traffic
glinting glass on the gum gobbed sidewalk
white sun stinging off the windows of apartment stacks
that myriad-hued silent descent echoed
even in their dreams
their whole lives
No comments:
Post a Comment