To a wet spring sky,
The color I profess my eyes
To be,
Sailing over the tall shining buildings,
Which stand like tendrils
Entwining people.
To the liquid diamonds,
Pouring down on fading motherhood,
Chilling my heart with each
Penetration of the skin,
Of the mind,
Of the soul,
Until every part of me is dulled,
Lulled into a diversion
From the tempests
Who strut by on satin clover fields,
Impervious of Satan’s gaze.
To budding hope
Covered in ammonium
And left to shrivel in the
Sidewalk cracks
And the backs of lockers
And behind closed doors,
And under messy beds,
Forever forgotten
Like a single little ladybug
On drenched tendril,
Coiling and coiling
To something just beyond its reach
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