Here, in this village,  
I, am unpigmented canvas  

my suburban skin,  
unfamiliar.

Where the trees
bleed colors of resurgence  

into the vacant
and vibrant damp,  

dark, earth below  
to begin and paint again.

my past self
looks back
at the orbs
I've shelved
he remarks
that of all the ways
I could've
disappeared
he didn't think
I would do it
brazenly

an unpigmented sun
blasting into
the Stygian stable
of the dark horse
called expectation
makes his way
delicately
stepping into old feet
nursing the
ails of
growing up
grey

quit
leave
abandon
your job
your uni
your family
follow me, feral child
into the wilder paces
a life unbuttoned
deedless
into a place where
rest is not
a rationed substance
sleep under the willow tree
with half-lidded precarity
until a sheet of wool-tipped leaves
dress you in slow
beguiling
serenity