Begin again
In this interminable gray,
The only color left
On the palette.
The color of my mind defeats it,
Dabbing and swirling
Blues and greens and reds.
And so on.
I will never relinquish the fire crackling at my core.
My 47-year-old self seeks out
The boy within — bright-eyed, yearning,
Brimming with hope.
He has endured the years,
Breathing here in the present.
The clock keeps ticking, but my time
Moves to the measure of my heart.
Does this poem, like the ones you didn't read last night
ReplyDeletelend itself to paint?
The squished tubes in the basement
waiting like me
to receive the sky
and become it