Tenderly #64
A window need not be a tender thing.
Clarity robs insignificance. Her peach and red
Marbled purse is not a backhoe. Not metal, nor straw
A crow overhead without a 'caw.' Urban instincts
Shadow someone's well grained, hardwood floor.
In legend a pine knot speaks to inner-struggle
Or an early morning stomach ache. He painted
A bright red "YES" on his son's bedroom floor
And ceiling. A good landlord does not permit
Such alterations. A mural of horror on an outer wall
Its torch red, orange and white color casually dismissed
Painted over, by a new tenant, after forty years.
Whether one is young or old is beside the point.
What is blue inside a heartache is red on the bedroom doorknob.
If you cry all night and then some
Some will say, quite knowingly, it's a relief to the Gods.
What one really knows, one suspects, revolves
Around the double-helix (those diamond shapes, crisscrossed
There on the red and blue vertical diagram)
And the gold and white, or the russet rich, red Iris
Rising there, multiple lipped, open and falling
Upon the neighbor's wooden, dark, loam filled bower.
Stephen Vincent
http://stephenvincent.net/blog/
Currently home of the Tenderly series,
A serial work in progress.
|