Mare

She sits above the fray of
purple and orange and pink and blue,
too pure, too white, to busy herself
with the nonsense of light
sprawled beneath her.
She’s finally at that time where her
whole face can glow to the ground.
She won’t waste a second of her time
with anything less than herself.

Yet the ground isn’t interested.
It spends what remaining sunlight
there is on tracing its fingers along
the colors’ path, trying to pretend
for a moment that the ground
can paint the sky.

So she stands, mouth open in surprise,
at turned-away eyes.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s