Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Dry Eyes

I know summer nears,
despite lurksome clouds
filtering raindrops faintly heard,
muffled by the stoic umbrella.

A hint of hues above obedient trees
glimmer dull roof tops,
bedazzle rusted eaves.
A horizon warning before

gentle-blued black brightened,
ceded to
selected swashes of a spectrum
penetrating my vision.

Dry eyes couldn't imagine colors prettier,
knowing, if I didn't watch
I'd lose them
in the brevity of a season
rushed into darkness,
quicker as days bleed out --

remind a rushed soul, elapsing time
must escape, leave me
with a stare that won't chase
the petulant purview anymore.

Too many seasons of,
'I'll see you tomorrow,'
just as blue, always blue,
to greet aging eyes.

I see it more than I should.
Tiny glimpses in these mornings stolen,
where I envision a view burgeoning
of blossomed evening lights.

Renewed days' colors could
fill any blood heart and bright soul.
But, science serves no purpose to the romantic,
to explain why we're not lovers anymore.


5.9.21
34 lines, freeverse

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