(…but not mixed-up)
Of being light-bright
(& almost white, but
Neither to assimilate
Or to hate nor to separate
The human race
…but instead, realize
All of us comprise
The face of its fate…
& trust in the vernacular of my soulness.
“The piano ain’t got
No wrong notes,” long as the song
Tells a story.
As the millions of
Colors sound off in my
Mind, to infuse hues
In the umbrella
Of umbra and propel me
Through the tyranny
Of time, I fall more
In adore with the broken road
To moons conjured
“In the twilight of
That led me through truths
Dead into you.
*Quote from Geoff Dyer
Why are my eyes roaming in the moonshadows
of her silhouetted smile as if it was a montage
of her soul being projected as a chromatic fantasy
upon the umbra of the universe
gravitating to everything under the sun?
Why are my thoughts drifting dreamily with all
the colors coming and going yet somewhat slipping away from day, as if they were
the empress of heaven’s old clothes (or lack thereof)
composing the coda of its coming to a close…
only to find it is the reprise of these eyes.
Listened to as well as looked at
With only a split second depicted
The felt duration of a picture
Extends several seconds before
And after that frozen moment
From what just happened to what’s
‘Bout to happen
Dissolving in the trance of time.