Sunday, August 16, 2009

Transatlantic Blue

I get up in the morning
And brush my teeth.
Behind me in the mirror
Is a shale blue waterfall.
I am closer than I think
To being outside in the velvet
Of rain, the rawhide belts of
Trees, the smells prying at
My nose, scanning the diary
Of deep green fragrances.
But what a mess as I come back
To the sky blue tile, the reptilian
Tube of toothpaste, the floss.
I turn the head and notice the
Hand propped on the counter.
Again I reach for land, I reach
For discovery. Now this way
And that. Through the shiny
Feedback of this loop behind
The sink, like a drive-in movie,
I lean back, letting evening in.
No more delay in the night's first
Stars. Just this double feature
Falling back and back to morning,
To the stillness of trance.



Cynthia Short said...

"the velvet of rain" is such a beautiful description. I also like the way that after the softness of the nature part of the poem you JAR us back to the here and now of the bathroom.

ron hardy said...

Hi Cynthia. Thanks for the your comments on the poem. Sometimes our little reveries can be jarring when we tip into the now again. I will visit your site and see you over at RWP. Mine is under construction as you can see. No furniture. I am moving poems from
to this site.