for ENV 299, thank you
I wish I had sunglasses
on these short
annoying stairs.
I see Meg's dark eyes
much worse, the sun shines
and her smile still sparkles.
Looking up is fruitless.
The wind makes the leaves dance
and I wish they wouldn't
distract me so.
Stark shadow on the ground
is me getting out of my own way.
The bark eye of the tree
is underneath all things.
I smell asphalt on the wind.
I wish I didn't smell asphalt
but I wish I could smell wind.
Vibrant colors too clean and
bright and if we go down the stairs
I'll fall or not write as much.
The poet's obstacle course
can't make me jump the hoops
of all time.
Smelling green grass that grows fake
seeing gold chairs that feel hollow
why is it man-made life and
nature can both be so beautiful?
The newness mixed with the old
means nothing ever really dies.
It just changes shape.
Like this path that changes
from cement to dirt back to
cement again. Which one is the
true path? The way for poets?
I crashed my snowboard on this--
more stairs
steeply down
if I could wander down stairs,
across fields, in the sun toward a
glowing mountain of autumn leaves
forever, then I'd always know
I am alive. This heat gives life. This
bright green grass beneath my feet
that sparkles here and there with
leftover dew, tethers me to the ground.
Without ground, I'd float off
into an abstract sky.
Why call this fall when all we do is
stay? Stay here on the earth with
its crunchy leaves underfoot. Stay here
on an endless train track, forever
in both directions.
Moving into nature
say hello. Question.
Why this dirt?
Why that pile of hay?
Why that dead birch right there off
the path? Why do we veer off the path?
Listen! There's a sewer and underneath
a river flowing, I can hear it
shushing and lulling like a waterfall.
The crow caws, the sun makes me
glint and it hurts my eyes.
I run to catch up.
A gun shot far off in the hills.
I take a deep breath
a thousand breaths to make
this afternoon last forever.
Grab a hold of that light bulb
one flash and it's over.
