Your Eyes Are Everywhere
gently falling leaf
has fun all
the way
down
lovely lilting voice
drops & rasps
with age
bones sink
hair diminishes
My love,
your eyes were once
green like clover,
and I saw them
every day
in the grass
in the forest
and I sensed them
every day
like mint leaves
cilantro, limes
and I valued them
every day
over jade jewels
over time, money.
faded, now squinting
yet still, my heart, I love them
softly gazing on
liveliness poured out rightly
and color poured out
into the eyes of a son.
The Virtue of Forgetting
Desparate, I strive for
The virtue of forgetting
As my hair turns white
And my arms are cold
For all day I dream
And still all night I remember
Green leaves and kisses
Continuously they play like films
Or like children on a well door
Or children in a graveyard
Like we did in the forest
But let me please forget
Let that be my stripes
That excitement and love
are naught
and my daily grays
and made bright whites.
That I may not know,
No, to not know. Forget.
*constructive criticism welcome this time!
2 comments:
June,
I really like the first one. I think the transfer of color is a wonderful expression of age. It's so easy to trace from experience: rain and wind fading wood, washes fading fabrics. But it's true that nothing is lost in a loss of color. Color merely moves from one thing to another. And so, a propos, the light pours into the eyes of a son.
The second one, I'm not sure if I understand the extent of it. Does the speaker really want to forget the good in view of her current circumstance? I suppose maybe she does in some dramatic way. I do like it, but I want to understand what I think may be mystique.
i am continuously impressed by you sara. and the things you write.
hope ur doing well.
sincerely,
michael shaddox
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