LAND OF WHEAT AND WHALE CLOUDS
Soon that fence will crumble
and let me walk
into that land of wheat and whale clouds
where I can pretend how free
My lips form patient words
for the silly dying
of weeds and dreams and illusions
that make my eyes fill with salt.
Gratitude that I know
I’ll never get to walk there
and I’ll never have to be brave
and never have to be honest.
Because I have words
that will get lost in those whale clouds
that sink below the blunt little hills.
Such a relief
that I kept them inside
where no one has to make polite faces
over the ordinary agony
note– found this tucked away, as you do. It was one of several versions.