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...