BIG Windows, little door

By Ben C

BIG Windows, little door

Walk home under May showers,
Pebbles will pass slightly.
Trees guard the path as towers,
Asphalt slides politely.

I wanted you to know—
Friday nights are best,
Slow like low P.E.I. tides;
Coming from the west,
& Slapping at your soft sides.

Nature applauded us sombrely.

I move like everything.
A whole World,
Reflected in one dewdrop
And I surround myself.

Devastated, I am penetrated.

Every drop, another meaningless
Carcass, in a bucket.
Paralysis, from a branch’s patient tear.

All our cheeks are crying red.

All you can do
Is change into dry clothes?
But, Its safer outside, you said
so Run home, salvage yourselves.

I wanted you to know—
The writing I’ve expressed,
Is lightning between two trees;
Striking into the dirt,
& Exploding at your knees.

All you can do
Is look outside?
See it all, but stay a wink,
Bask in a humid light, sit around,
Never lived, just time enough to think,
Dissolved, I’ll be in the background,
Completely part of the carpet.

And the door tends to shrink.

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