Explain That Again
The part where we run down Box Hill
hand in hand, lose control of our legs
until all we are are footprints in grass
rebounding ’til we can’t be traced.
And the weight of the colors, like opening
hall doors silently at night, not to wake
the dark. How that’s terrifying and beautiful.
How the roots of the tree by your window
worm their way through the earth
through brick, make supple your house.
Tell me how you dreamed this alone;
a half moon by daylight, only you can see.
from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, May 10, 2016 — by Neil Flatman
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim.