The world weeps its colors
Out in front of me,
My skin, the leaves, the stones,
All their shades and hues
Are pools of this sorrow.
She is growing old,
And is trying to make it beautiful,\
So we stop asking questions
About origin, because
Origins bring questions of age,
And she hates to say how old she is,
Instead we should enjoy
The bright things she offers,
And the dull ones too,
They often have the best designs.
“Elastic Vision” was printed in Hawthorne Road, No. 2 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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