A POEM OF AMBIGUOUS PROPORTIONS
...What have I learned?
Je ne sais pas...alors.
J’ai appris. J’ai appris. J’ai appris
Everything spurs from the intentional—the eventual.
With age comes increasing struggle to see,
My intentions are hazy
Too quickly—the time comes and goes
And this indistinct blur is nothing at all but that
A blur
—The clouds after it rains.
But slivers, slivers, there have always been slivers,
Through which I see a city, soft in shades of gray
A sun peaking out from beneath this collage
Of steel laden inhabitants
Chez Moi
Mais, Mais, Mais,
The rain has slowed for some time now, as the sky begins to ripen.
The haze, not gone, remains in the distance,
And the stain left behind, on my squinting eyes, is blue.
Blue. I don’t know what to do with blue.
I see, now I see—
I’d rather have just a sliver of light than be blinded by an overflow of Blue.
Beauteous beckoning blue
Bewitchingly decadent blue
Que Faire?
Hélas, hélas, hélas
I’ve looked up towards the sun too long
Although it feels like just a moment
Now, in the forefront of my mind
Is not the last blue sky I saw.
But rather, the gray mist that came before
How fondly I will remember those silver slivers of light
Those falling, fleeting thoughts,
darting towards a steel ideal.
Distinction cannot appear behind a haze.
I knew. I knew! I knew?
Yet I squint to get a glimpse
Behind this opaque blue—
My intention? Qui sait?
This wave has come at me in threes.
I smell Remnants of blur in the breeze
Cette vague, Cette vague de ma vie
Taking French / 2011.
Taking French / 2011.
