Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Fleeting Visions

I know it's nearing —
a hint of hue above trees
seem no purpose
but stand guard
before roof tops’ sheen
keep out horizon's warning.

longer I look, anticipating
as black blued
as blue ceded
to selected swashes of a spectrum
penetrating vision.

eyes dry,
couldn't imagine colors prettier —
yet to realize, if I don't watch
I lose them
where I position
in the brevity of a season
rushed back into darkness,
faster and faster,
as days bleed out,

remind

time is elapsing.
return and escape
is still leaving
like it's left me,
like I left it,
with eyes that won't chase
a horizon anymore.

too many seasons,
seems unending.
I'll see you tomorrow.
I'll still feel the same then.
It's blue here,
all blue.
It's always been blue.
I see it more now than I should.

These tiny astral glimpses
in dangerous morning reverie remind
I can turn to look
in the evening, but
doesn’t represent
colors as hopefully projected.
Science serves no reason
to explain these seasonal moods,
when death remains imminent.


11.16.20
6.16.22
Edited, added with darker summation, not what I truly wanted.