There's something distrustful
about sunlight. I know I'm in the minority here--
but the way it burns our retinas, polishes
our hair, lifts the gold manes of our arms--
we must be blind.
The bus fills with a sulfur light
this morning
and a tired fat man becomes
beautiful, shining and I swear he has wings
tucked somewhere in his gym bag.
I look around and see it everywhere--
an impossible gossamer:
the driver's cheap coffee steams tendrils
that disappear smooth as a silk
scarf into the air we breathe.
It's lovely, of course, but--
maybe the return of rain will offer promises
we can keep, ground we can easily
stand on. A clear way to gauge each other.
|