Eternity on these amber days
like polaroid pictures pulled through taffy makers,
like the questions you had when you were little:
“How much does he love me?” and similar.
now things are new and well-stated and aching,
those same springing amber legs
now ambling, though purposeful,
now forgotten, though efficient.
and off now to interviews in sullen concrete tents,
to buy out your steel grins and cowering spouses.
soon enough, you will find precious emeralds,
sparkling green, and… sparkling green.
and the precious thought-monster that lived years ago
would shout from the depths of dead lungs:
“it’s only a rock! go and drink the cool waters!,
just stop digging your fingernails dry!”
but this girl in a dress, and two tiny red bows,
is just as well a bouquet in the mirror.
as the moon shines over the docile waters,
so too is the girl never clearer.
but really, however much you furrow your brow,
i cry for you in solemn moments.