IT WAS THE SIZE OF THE DAY

 

This poem arose from the first line: it was the size of a day. It was an unusual line and I can't remember where it came from. Over a period of time though I made a poem out of it. 

it was the size of the day and

it slipped in while he slept on

so that when he awoke

it was its sun he saw

its trees and grass he glimpsed

through its windows

his body slumbered

machines worked to keep him stable

it was large yet it was not infinite

rather he just knew

on his solo walks in the empty park

just where to stop

for one step more

and he would have been

enmeshed in its membrane

and forced to decide

the ceaseless machines watched over

his silent hospital room

It is always difficult to go back and look at older poems as you can always see the faults more clearly. While this poem is not perfect I think it works. 

Here is Iron and Wine.

Until next time.