blank day, transparent

The light of day pierces through the leaves outside in spring-green shadows. I feel as if I should do something worthwhile with it, the light: take it in my arms and spread it out, stroke by stroke on a canvass, or take each bright leaf by the hand and lead it to its place in writing. It would be too dull to let such beauty be, too common, not poetic enough.

Notes that run in and out excite memories. One word wakes mountains of images, the other darkens them into nostalgia. If I close my eyes I can no longer tell the difference: am I here or there?

Thoughts parade against the backdrop of my vision, audition for a place in eternity.

If my hands tell stories of all the things they touch, oh the shock of soap.


words: Naomi, United States (the price of kissing)
photo: Steve Wing, Florida (sand shadow)

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