1
Your office window pictures your straight-line story,
An everyday map locating secure bearings:
Emerald trees cooling salt-dome upheaval,
The commute of right angles and stoplight seething,
The college that buried you in seductive words,
The ancient cemetery desired by your urn.
2
You craved star journeys, but got a boyish big bang,
A seven-iron swing to the skull—and cell-flash of
Red-orange-yellow-blue-green spectrum explosions.
Ripped from its snug wall, your blood-rich left retina
Drowned in poisonous fluid, a ghostly planet
Fading to brown-purple and streaking milky pink.
3
Your frozen iris gapes, blotting sunshine cold,
Yet colors kaleidoscope from a light within,
Rose-window jewels opening my blinkered sight.
Lovely as usual….surprised the urn line didn’t come last… but hey it’s art not science… 🙂
Hi Karen, Thanks for reading! Your comment is helpful. I will move the urn line to the end of the first stanza. This may not be science, but logic matters. : )