He opens his eyes
And outpours a glossy reflection
Of deciduous leaves performing a colourful revelation
And leaping to the earth
Parachuting on the invisible pull of gravity.
Back looks she
With eyes icy
Sometimes husky grey.
They swallow him
And slowly blinking long black lashes
He is locked in the
Where pupil meets iris.
It’s the Atlantic ocean
And the flow of shipyard
Through the pumpkin head bottle neck.
The bones of slaves and seamen
Lay below the streets of the Port-city
As though it were a layer of sheetrock.
He walks along the black painted tar
Of last winter’s state budget expenditure.
And the past foreclosure.
It’s the shanghai tunnels below the city
Where intentions are knocked unconscious
And dragged, feet bumping
Towards the lapping shores.
Still the image that remains
are those frozen, grey husky eyes
And the orange, green, yellow, reds, and purples
Of the sugar maple’s sun ray collectors
That play softly in ghostly