Going Blind In The Sunshine

by Renwick Berchild

Watch my eyes, they dip and dive, my hand over my mouth,
my chin in my shoulder, away like the cold – it’s spring. Let’s go.
The trees are shaking off their bitter time spent contemplating their
poesy to sing. Now, they begin the music, green notes illumed
lightbulbs, they’re on. Let’s head outside into the ramose sunshine.

I’m there – now I’m not. Behind you – no, now in front. Let’s go.
Love is a fall unless you run. Let’s not lose our footing, vamos
the way summer does, smacking the sleeping vegetables and
trees awake; are you awake yet? I slip my sweater over my face
folding the universe momentarily, my brain in the cloistered dark.

We’ve all a mind to not lose our minds, but our loose heads still
tumble from our shoulders frequently. Come on out, to the water.
The shoulders of the world are soft divans of grains, crystals so tiny
they’ll catch in my hair, in my socks, in my underwear and lips,
and we might trip into each other, might relinquish; a chance
I might slip a toe into the center of your gravity, and get burned.

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