deepundergroundpoetry.com

A Story For Jess

I'm going to say there she
was - from two-thousand miles
away, there she was - an emerald
sea between us and my back
against the wrinkled, old skin of an
oak planted in the highest fold of
a hillside. I thumbed down my hat over my
eyes, just enough so that her
silhouette in front of a piercing red
sunset appeared to be gliding over thin
air. The sky was a splatter canvas of
purples and oranges, the oak was
comfortable. Sleep pulled at me like
tendrilous roots, held against a
husk and embraced. It was cold in a way that
made me wish I could sink deeper into my
clothes. Eyes fluttered and she was
closer now, maybe a thousand miles,
ebbing and flowing over the viridian grass that
glistened in the breeze. I closed my
eyes for a moment and drifted, and I
heard the leaves of the tree and the
ocean of hills speak through the wind. When
I opened them again, she was there, not in the
distance, in front of a colossal burning star, but
next to me, leaning against the oak, singing
just below the threshold of the whispers around us,
There are no words that we nor the
wind do not know