I had the beginning to a poem I wanted to write, but I wasn't completely sure what direction to go with it. Thus, I went two directions.

Patina

What a beautiful surprise
to find in a city’s midst
the infinite thrill
of nature unbounded

like watching in memory
the auburn wave hair,
of a sinewy spined girl,
unleashed down her back

or the sentimental somnolence
of wind in the Elm’s leaves,
and the sad crisp burn smell
of one season’s dying.

It is possible for me,
in the last hour of night,
to close my eyes black
in the old Methodist garden

and push back the memories
of a young girl’s hair;
the finite comforts of life
sleeping beyond the patina
of her copper singed eyes


Placeless (3rd and Pine)

What a beautiful surprise
to find in a city’s midst
the infinite thrill
of nature unbounded;

to hear the sentimental somnolence
of wind in the tree tops,
and smell the sad crisp burn
of one season’s dying.

What a bittersweet memory
to close one’s eyes
in the last hour of night,
in the old Methodist garden,

and feel the limitless
border-free expanse,
of a body without place
still bound to the ground
by the finite comfort
of humanity sleeping,
and waiting to wake