Up on my tower

I wake up, and feel like
I’m made of morning.
Made of that spongy sky
that’s spitting its lemon glow
all over the endless east.
I open every window, north and south,
and stand in the wind,
in the wide void of the apartment,
an airplane spreading its wings
all across the sixth floor,
a shivering flap of marrow-like indigo
five feet below the tin roof.
Heading to some long forgotten
geomagnetic pole, a sudden hole
peeping through the nacreous haze,
north-northwest – I breathe the dawn.
I wake up, again and again.
Up on my tower, I’m flown across
by every slightest change in the sky.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in places, verses, vibrations and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s