twoblueviolets

If I were dreaming,

would the cold and snow still bite my face

in the winter

when I went skiing?

If I were dreaming,

would the heat of June-July-August-now-October-too(?)

I turn away from them and gaze out the window.

The clouds gather in large gray clumps across the sky.

Painting everything below them in shades of gray.

My mind wanders to the only place I don’t ever want to go again.

They all say they'd visit dinosaurs 

go back and dig for gold 

meet their great-great-great grandparents 

be around when electricity was discovered. 

When the question is asked 

A green tea bag is baking cold out on my porch 

A piece of gray rock from the quarry wanted to be torched 

Whipped cream pecks your cheeks with specks and flecks of blue 

Heat

Coming down from above

The sun stands still

A yellow trail blaze in the sky

Leading me forward

Into its light

Its rays land, dead grass, yellowing brown leaves 

Dark hair on a head