It has finally
The first day of Colour, and the Sky
Smells like fresh lemonade, or Maybe
served on a lily-valley-blue Texas porch.
It strokes each sense, scratches my cat ears
The temptations of summer are Here,
for I opened my eyes, which must mean that I slept!
I dig in the Earth – Three Stones
One for each of Us, and in a few months
I float down through the village,
Look at all of the hair!
If any of it has ever been shiny, today, Oh,
It shines! I guess I thought it never would again,
without ever even thinking such a thought.
For a year I was an Adult, you see,
but it didn’t shine as still, as soft -
It didn’t sear and soar like angel wings
and there were bookies and posers, all painted Maroon,
as I paid the bills and my husband played work -
no, I don’t believe in everlasting <but I do, but I do>
But only for my mother, walked in a valley, lily-blue.
He kept the house and I kept his mind, while the clock kept the time -
I remember feeling like kryptonite, but I really felt like drowning,
Because all I really had was money,
and I could not fold a paper raft,
Drowning in a river of my blue, blue, blue.
I’m the kind that must float free,
sticky in the air,
Until I find a place to land
And whisper to the wood -
What if the oceans are really islands, and the islands really oceans?
Laughing like a witch would laugh,
In my own Awe, of a valley, blue.
Now I’m quenched just by the air, my love
And scabs don’t have to scratch.
Now you can play the bachelor man
While I remain the queen, wearing silken lily-valley-blue.
Wood drifts past, with these years,
with these tears,
I make a shoe of it all and call it Sam
and call for my Old Man.
The sky is endless, until the clouds come, but I
Can’t count to one -
I could die a nanny valley-blue, losing my rocker
on the porch – squeak, squeak, slow.
Do you ever want to die because you want to save the blue?
The city slows down and mimic’s the accent of the sun,
son of a preacher man.
Dig, Deep South
For anything we could hit would be gold today.
seeds into her soft surface,
and if only my Tara would swing back to me
It would be perfect.
But if it was perfect, we would not exist.
I still would not, know,
And there would be no lily-valley-blue.
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