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CONFIDENT AS AN ARTIST’S FINGERS
manipulating blue into deeper perspective,
you hang from windows with your hair
crazied with breeze. and your eyes.
(which is where i should stop) your eyes,
which pierce further horizons, a little remorseful
with tears, that this place, this position of design,
does not offer true light, or display full ability,
but contrives to net you in, to hang upon my wall.
but if there were a true independence,
considering my involvement, i would come
to the tip of your perspective, gladly,
documenting how you came to carry me there.
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