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Poems from the Nature of Daylight zine.
The 4 am birdsong heralds the return of the morning sun as he
breaks over the sleepy sky like the runny yolk of last night’s
cheap instant ramen, seeing that I have not moved from where
he last saw me. His pity is stronger than his sunshine.
Mother has changed her robes again, and I have missed her
winter thaw and the cleansing power of her spring winds.
The fresh scent of melting snow and open blue skies are like episodes
of a Netfl ix special I thought could be binged at a later time.
The sun peaks through my windowpane like an overzealous mall
cop who suspiciously examines my creased face for the time I
stole, seeing the well-worn bags under my tired eyes, the
exhaustion marring my face to reveal my sunken joy and
plundered hope- he says nothing, moving on.
With this stolen time, I dream of the outside from the inside to
feel the warmth of his love irradiate my cold body once again to
be free of the self-imposed tyranny of this panasonic where time
means nothing at all. The sun’s love is both my saving grace and
final my damnation.
A mournful canon sung by a murder of crows becomes the fugue
of my own requiescat for my pale blue soul. My body bathed in
the sweet scent of lilacs and half-dead roses. My soul lingering as
I run out of time to complete my next assignment. The sun’s rays
unable to reach my heart’s last prayer for sunshine.