I see differently
I see things differently,
like lyrics and shades,
differently than the cold pale mouth
of worry and intellectual revelation.
I feel things differently – what was empty,
a faint perfume, is now sharp, suffocating,
expecting so much from my guarded solitude.
I walk differently, hesitating at the sound of birds,
watching lines in the clouds, a child angry with
her mother and the small cracks on the sidewalk stone.
I sleep differently as though I never do, remembering
each hour passing in the depth
of daydreams not sleep dreams,
not resting, but rising, my breath, my flame, living
I wake differently, never tired, but full of throbbing,
and the spring is almost here, trapped
in ‘the-moment-before’, in the power of painted hair
and earlobes caressed and kissed.
I love differently, like I’ve never loved, demanding
the wind, the desert, a vigil of remarkable intensity.
dilemmas. Love, like a place to play, playing,
then laying flat out and waiting for
rain, a hand, or stars.
Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Jotter United Lit-zine, Issue 7”