the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Amber

Direct light gray,
Indirect golden.
This life works in angles
In shadows and degrees,
Never poured in your eyes
But in everything you see.
Remembering a father's anguish
Recalling a mother's pain
Recounting a brother's laughter,
All at once, and all the same.

I pack solitary warmth in a suitcase.
I pack my youth into a binder.
I pack my calendar with time
Because I don't know what I'll find
Once I've left the real thing behind.

And in a three-hour gain,
I'll feel a great loss.
Because somewhere in the worthless gloss,
Los Angeles is a paradise lost
Where jaundice spheres forecast the day
And all your dreams can come and play...

2 comments:

Jackson Perry said...

Milton dictated Paradise Lost, late in life, after he had lost his eyesight (not to jaundice though). Interesting connection with your first stanza, I don't know if you planned that.

Chris W. said...

ah you're right! no, i didn't plan that... cool :D