Hands Over Eyes

Drifting slowly through the branches, ever sluggish downward motion

Last night my head hung in my hands, and the winter rain

Drippingly defined the vertices of walls to thud my forehead against.

Driving this car, I'll propel into the midnight air with a gust of

Acceleration, with all the windows rolled down until the

Roof blows off like an old plastic bag and I freefall into stars.

I'll stand upon this promontory, an old rusted shipwreck dream

To be a part of hummed lapping river, acquiescing to ripples,

With the far off vibrato of apathetic traffic overhead

A cold breeze will whisper to remind me of this skin.

There will only be so much that anyone will ever see,

Whether I leave it upon the front porch to dry or hold it deep within.

Perpetually rolling people will never stop to grow or look

And I'll keep the philosophy of wind, to myself.