YWP

the air tastes like honey and promise 

sticky with the scent of blooming jasmine 

and freshly cut grass that crunches beneath bare feet 

the sky drips blue 

stretching wider every afternoon 

I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone.

I'm six on the living room floor -

the pink album the pink album I chant -

dad puts the Supremes on the record player, the jacket handed to me -

pink, with three of the most beautiful women I've ever seen -

there is peace in the darkness, an 

alluring sense of acceptance in failure 

closed eyes & open eyes both see the same 

but please 

stick out your hand 

They gather in shadow beyond the monuments, 
no longer chiseled names, but men again, 
haunted by what they see, 
each bearing the weight of his vision now worn.