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,

just background,

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

and musical.

I wake differently, never tired, but full of throbbing,

heavy beating

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.

Love, lacking

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”