(a poem I wrote in a dream)
Cyanotype experiments with the ocean and sun as my collaborators
Combining colors,
mixing dyes,
left out longer in the sun,
longer to dry.
Each mark its own,
each stain a new weather,
a passing pattern,
before the kaleidoscope
turns.
Others have succeeded.
Promotions, a worn path,
the ball rolling on without a push.
But in this life, I know only to look askance
and follow my feet,
my legs dirty from the grass.
I want to be loved.
I don't want to be forgotten.
What more is this
than a drop of rain
sliding
to the edge.
