The Moment Before Janet Arrived
I've never been comfortable in my own skin.
Not ever, really-
But today, I sat behind the wheel,
Quiet and still, well planted and preserved
In the driver's seat amidst mid-winter Salesian square.
Air was crisp and cold that day in February-
Silence cracked the window vein,
Depleted of fresh oxygen and new blood.
Eyes gazing weathering winds,
Trading solemn secrets between young sapling trees
While older white oak leaves leaned into wisdom carefully-
They're distinct round lobed leaves, green with knowing
Rustle through breaks in open-ended divination
Yet, being freely given to warm amber-yellow palms
Sliding down and behind lowering lids of long, dark lashes.
It's calm in here...
Behind the eyes, in the darkness of soul
Insight, laid polished and poised
On sapphire brimmed sophisticated reason.
Those memories-
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
Parting thin layers of passing clouds,
While a stream of slippery green tree frogs, chimed-
Buried*
*Buried
Buried*
Just under white, whistling, winds,
Whispering, wild, wonderful wonders,
Whirling willpower while weaving witty wiles, willingly-
BUT
Are we ever really that comfortable?
- J. Circosta
Poems From Passion
The Moment Before Janet Arrived, ©2016
I've never been comfortable in my own skin.
Not ever, really-
But today, I sat behind the wheel,
Quiet and still, well planted and preserved
In the driver's seat amidst mid-winter Salesian square.
Air was crisp and cold that day in February-
Silence cracked the window vein,
Depleted of fresh oxygen and new blood.
Eyes gazing weathering winds,
Trading solemn secrets between young sapling trees
While older white oak leaves leaned into wisdom carefully-
They're distinct round lobed leaves, green with knowing
Rustle through breaks in open-ended divination
Yet, being freely given to warm amber-yellow palms
Sliding down and behind lowering lids of long, dark lashes.
It's calm in here...
Behind the eyes, in the darkness of soul
Insight, laid polished and poised
On sapphire brimmed sophisticated reason.
Those memories-
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
Parting thin layers of passing clouds,
While a stream of slippery green tree frogs, chimed-
Buried*
*Buried
Buried*
Just under white, whistling, winds,
Whispering, wild, wonderful wonders,
Whirling willpower while weaving witty wiles, willingly-
BUT
Are we ever really that comfortable?
- J. Circosta
Poems From Passion
The Moment Before Janet Arrived, ©2016
