cast-a-compass day

Whiskers of kittens on morning’s face,
the sun wearing cloud glasses –
me too darn shiny for it, giggles a cherry tree.
A horse pulled chariot rolls over the dog’s dreams,
which reminds me that I have forgotten mine…
floors need sweeping,
windows need wiping,
dust must die –
or at least emigrate outside the house,
where it will make entropy less obvious
than between these four walls.
I’m not confessing anything.
I’m just a jewel maker.
A beads stringer.
And you’re wearing around the throat of your thoughts
the necklace of my silica trinketry.
Grains of sand feel weightless –
until you’re lost in the desert and you feel them
screeching in your teeth and scratching all your joints.
Then you begin to hate them,
just as much as they heat you,
just as much as sun hits you in your hat-less head,
you hate the desert, beaches, hourglasses,
everything involving sand.
And obviously, time.
Which reminds me again about this morning
and the damn cat waking me up from dreamland.
I hate sand.


© Liliana Negoi


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