I.
Might I
run my cautious finger
along happy bruises,
golden-blue and mottled green moss
or slide sheer curtains over
cool purple fog?
My heart bleeds
gushes of white,
as I drift into your blue haze.
Might I
curl my hand
around your sweet pink
speckles of sugar,
like poking my finger
into the purple clouds above,
swirl it around like cotton candy,
bring a fluffy piece to my lips,
to taste,
just a little taste
before it fizzles away?
II.
Down your face stream
ashen tears,
precise splatters of blood,
blushing across the cruel skin
of the solitary pine
of your nose.
Slopes of fuzzy green
stubble, burning
heavenly magma
in shadows over
me. Hot blushes
over my naked skin.
I will see you again
and again,
again.
III.
I am naked and you are heavenly,
cold and hot and ashen and cruel.
You cast red shadows,
my skin burns, burns, burns blue.
Gone is the stubble
of moss over earthly slopes.
I am one pine tree
solemn
solitary,
skinless and pink.
I am naked,
I’ve fallen
from forests in heaven.
You were my fire;
I am ash.
IV.
There is a woman in the mountains
who closes grey stone eyes,
who purses cracked lips
and reclines upon a narrow throne.
There is a woman
who lifts her heavy arm
and points, imagining
a line connecting the earth
to the sky.
There is a woman
who bares a naked leg
thinking that if she just reaches
a little farther,
watches
a little longer,
maybe then, her half-face
will find its match.
But now, she is sleepy
and she is too heavy
to keep her eyes open.
V.
Blue,
cool blue, blue
in its purest, sapphire form
is the true sun, I think.
If the sun were blue,
it would blend
into the sky and
never be seen again.
VI.
The cold stone is warm today;
I run my hand along the ice,
my face mirrored in its sheer surface.
My reflection is a lady,
reclining upside-down,
hair dangling in brown wisps
leaves caught in tangles.
I see myself in my reflection’s eyes;
I wonder, does infinity blush?
She must know how to wake
the sleeping giantess,
how to pry
those eyes open,
knows just which words
to pray.
But I’ve walked the frozen corridors
of the underworld
and found nothing of use,
no,
nothing of us.
VII.
One night I shock myself
by finding an elf
sticking its pointed nose
where it does not belong.
VIII.
I climb over a mottled moon,
freckles dotting your surface.
Every inch of you
is a creature, new to me,
I float, I fly
in soft S’s, hiding,
the strain of a hand over a mouth.
Quiet, my dragon:
Shhh.
We are silence,
we are danger.
VIIII.
An eagle sails through swollen clouds,
scratching scars into the sky’s frozen face.
If we reach, our fingers
will trace pools of dark ink
across the twisted cotton.
Should we doom ourselves
to the shadows, or
run screaming into the night?
The cracks in the smoke twist us,
I am frozen, frozen
with her face in grotesque laughter.
Do you feel the tug
of the fire;
can you find the shape of butterflies
gathering, marching
in whispers?
X.
You turn away
beneath dying grass and
browning brick.
Leaves swerve in tangled vines,
tilt and clutch at our stiff faces.
You walk away,
Giving me no last gasp
or dying breath.
Your hands are in your pockets,
your mouth open;
this is how I know you can breathe.
You breathe fire, you breathe destruction,
you’ve wrought ruin upon me.
Ash to ash,
dust to dust,
and all return to the earth again,
as all once was,
all will be,
and here I am,
wondering how a man unreal,
merely a will-’o-the-wisp,
holds me on the tip of his finger
and sends me flying with a short breath.
I turn away
because what else is there to do?
Ash
to dust
to earth
to kindling
and again,
again,
I am aflame.
Photo by Alex Shutin on Unsplash
Rachel Sandell 