my river of rust inside the milk and honey filled snow globe of me sometimes ...

I was a hero inside its opaque glass 
I couldn't see outside to where I shone dressed  
vested rested arrested in sorrow and poison eating 
I could absorb light with the best 
of shadows and other dark velvet tells it sews 
seams scene, bean to beats beneath it 
is around a fire outside 
where warmth and cold 
meet like a curtain between 
the womb entry place 
of reclamation before the journey 
and racing the Sun
Icarus succumbed ...

being so much in a hurry 
as I am often enough 
I fall in Love repeatedly 
with everything 
but myself 
this is especially true 
when near the end 
of the poem 
I think of  a You 
I can paint 
with what colors 
pigment closed eyes  
and how Love 
becomes ecology 
an apology 
a four letter word 
that skips meaning 
like a stone thrown 
across still water 
with Fibonacci entrails 
these little shapes 
and dovetails 
I swear 
have been here before 
waiting for the pregnant pause to begin ...

and there is always 
someone calling 
from the shore 
a little more 
a little more ...

EJR ©