the next morning at the vineyard,
after getting in late
three dollars
colin says, don't define me by this
~
we're down at the dry creek
sitting on the bank
plinking stones into imaginary water
watching imaginary ripples
not likely, i say
late night confessions, i say
he nods, late night confessions
plink
~
and me, i say, queer as a three dollar bill
as a three dollar bill, he says
i raise my eyes and smile
the worst is over
his blue eyes sparkle again
~
i love the colors here, olives and fawns
i love the air
he sits crossed legged
looking at something distant
what are you thinking about, i ask
what are you thinking about, he asks
~
fair enough, i say
where we're going, i say
if we'll remember this day in ten years
he unfolds his long legs and lies back
his hands under his head
look at the sky, he says
i lie back and look at the sky, so blue
so blue above that i can imagine the blackness just beyond, and do
i will, he says
~
i love the earth here, dry as dust
~
i let my eyes close
this time the silence is comfortable
what am i thinking—i'm thinking, imagining, engaging
in wish fulfillment
i can almost taste it, it's near, so near, just out of reach, ghostly
i sigh
colin says, me too
he says it quietly
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 872 times
Written on 2016-02-21 at 16:04
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Nancy Sikora |
Elle |
shells |
|