A tiny dance of coming to by Charles Carr

A tiny dance of coming to

The first faded sight of blue,
just enough dark sees
the moon as a big toe
in a torn sock,
seven o’clock traffic is
an agitated ocean,
a tide changing
its mind, wipers sweep
clean where night slept
dew on the windshield,
now the sun is a thumb
pierces the skin
of an orange,
it seems impossible
the sky fits it all in its mouth
at once and suddenly
the taste of light on everything.

by Charles Carr

Twitter: @selfrisinmojo

Editor’s Note: The imagery in this poem meanders from personification to surrealism, but the emotional undertone remains luminous.