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sometime peace

last night cradled in the warm soft black tarmac shell of closed eyed meanderings into other lands - i found my orange grove. the place i hid beneath the hand span waxen leaves and my dirt sweat matted little girl hair -contemplating ants. there were no ambulances outside my cracked window or putrid shopping cart shattered lives. there were sand particles so foreign to my knowledge of tundra clay that i thrust my fingers in and felt the tight loose embrace of she that was desert. there was the smell of burnt dates from the tree beside and the peacocks yelping - blue haired sirens calling for their waning youth or their lost child -

the way the sun sat directly on my shoulder - overzealous lover so distinct from the reserve of my winter orb. and how skin smells like golden rays - taught with life and constellations of freckles whispering my inheritance of the Celtic gene.

in my five year old wanderings by swimming pools and bougainvillea i lost my spinning crashing hurricane of ego and floated gently down the river watching the pebbles flicker by.

10:21 a.m. - 2005-07-12
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