coffee wet my chords like violins left in the rain
dewy windows in a sunrise
blades of grass, wept in yellow autumn
the scent alone led my senses to the stage
spotlighted daybreak, symphonic alarm
(technology simulating something I could not describe,
even if I tried to describe,
from a dream)
i emptied my pockets to find golden aster and a rusty compass.
the dials wouldn't turn but the petals talked me out of being stagnant
showed me a door to a star
the path swept by giant arms of oaks
the path crawling to a cacao canopy that turned like stained pages
in a used book
from the trailer on schooley's mountain
we used to call a library.
e. chayes
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