What joy to remove the glasses,
both the reflection of midday sun on back of purring Sports Utility
and the deep-cut wrinkles in Mr. Rhyne as he walks pretentious Scottish terrier
blur.
The sun's beams take a drink allowing the world to settle
into a point-blank water color -- lovely, blotchy, tame.
Glasses left in passenger seat, shoes laced, shorts of mesh,
a sweet breeze makes the leaves fall -- leaves I don't see,
but hear, relate.
Knee joints slow to start -- oh to be a cartilage machine --
Trees turn from shadow to canopy to cathedral
as the miles pass, as sweat rivers and empties into my eyes
the vision blurs further.
An elderly couple, I tell by their outline, their faces little more
than dabs of paint, wish me a good afternoon.
A nod acknowledging their passing, a wave to say hello/goodbye
and a thought -- will my knees feel this way forever.
A few miles more, the chalky white of eyes turn blood red
by streaming salt; I see even less.
But under another cathedral of trees, I witness the darkness bend.
Shadows twist -- not humoring the wind -- no, to bring attention
to my thinning shadow, and a question, *is this movement out of respect,
or are the shadows making room for me?*
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
What joy to remove the glasses,
both the reflection of midday sun on back of purring Sports Utility
and the deep-cut wrinkles in Mr. Rhyne as he walks pretentious Scottish terrier
blur.
The sun's beams take a drink allowing the world to settle
into a point-blank water color -- lovely, blotchy, tame.
Glasses left in passenger seat, shoes laced, shorts of mesh,
a sweet breeze makes the leaves fall -- leaves I don't see,
but hear, relate.
Knee joints slow to start -- oh to be a cartilage machine --
Trees turn from shadow to canopy to cathedral
as the miles pass, as sweat rivers and empties into my eyes
the vision blurs further.
An elderly couple, I tell by their outline, their faces little more
than dabs of paint, wish me a good afternoon.
A nod acknowledging their passing, a wave to say hello/goodbye
and a thought -- will my knees feel this way forever.
A few miles more, the chalky white of eyes turn blood red
by streaming salt; I see even less.
But under another cathedral of trees, I witness the darkness bend.
Shadows twist -- not humoring the wind -- no, to bring attention
to my thinning shadow, and a question, *is this movement out of respect,
or are the shadows making room for me?*
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