Warm, white sand scratches beneath
my bare feet
as I stand still,
like one of those marbled Roman statues over on that hill.
My eyes squint, and I peer
into the sky, just past the sun
off to the left,
where a lone sun ray runs
through the wispy clouds
with their high brow puffs and elegant curves--
that sun ray doesn't belong there
and the entire kingdom in the sky can tell now.
Determined, however, that ray
reaches its mark, blasting through
the crowd, refusing to get caught,
into a dainty, diffused spotlight right at my feet.
If the ray made it out,
then so can we.
YOU ARE READING
CLOUDS FOR MY EYES
PoetryThis prose-poetry chapbook explores themes of clouded judgments, devotion and deconstruction, and cotton fields where a belief in purpose and a belief in freedom no longer align. New poems released every Thursday at 9PM MST/11PM EST.
