Posted on: May 1, 2013
Pink elephants glitter through a memory
of a garden. Soaked in rain,
we dance so carefully. Echoing
each other’s indifference
regarding vision, we pattern a moon.
Dialed for futility,
invisible hands reached through
ghosts (broth present and unaccounted for).
Laughter lightening tongues
toward tales of fear and following. Our hands
folding inside each other as we cross
a bridge no one built to come out. Unscathed
is a fairy-told demon. We find
only slightly scarred is more reality’s toll.
Flock of feathered followers
pierce the clouds. Dollops of fuscia,
gold, and lime sizzle before igniting. Clouds
crack, open a peep show of silver linings.
Lighting spotlights the mountains’ misery.
1… 2… 3… Thunder matches angry
growl of night, resigns, fades from dripping red