Thereâ€™s something distrustful
about sunlight. I know Iâ€™m in the minority hereâ€”
but the way it burns our retinas, shines
our hair, lifts the gold mane of our armsâ€”
we must be blind.
The bus fills with a sulphur light
and this tired fat mat becomes
beautiful, shining, and I swear he has wings
tucked somewhere in his gym bag.
I look around and see it everywhereâ€”
an impossible gossamer:
the driverâ€™s coffee steams smooth
as a silk scarf
into the air we breathe.
Itâ€™s beautiful, of course, butâ€”
maybe the return of clouds will offer promises
we can keep, ground we can easily
stand on. A clear way to gauge each other.
Copyright © Emily Wall 2007