Sketchbook

If I had known how to sketch
the final outcome, I never would have

sacrificing words of love
for the love of words
I said

the sounds out loud, so as not to forget
to pictures in hallways, not of you

I seemed dark blue to the crows when
they went swooping daily

across the horizon in both directions
near the place where angels cry

under the cover of night, invisible
hands to hold my head up high, they
told me I was more than one broken wing

attached to a body willing to go
or a book that can't be closed

broken pencils carving
into my binding
rendering me useless

I said to no one in particular
save the wind in my hair
There are two colors I never
could match....

Then the sketchbook reappeared
and you were in it

We build temples inside of our walls.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

It's a wonderful extended metaphor that's tight and visual, which is not an easy combo to pull off. This is fine stuff, indeed.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is one of my favorite poems on this site.
every part of it is perfect.
we might not want to know the outcomes because we can't trust that they will be appeasing, pleasing...
more than just teasing.
but finally we open the book to find a love within...one who can break down our walls.

j.