Vermillion Raindrops

I close my eyes in the far side of Frank,

Steam billowing from the oatmeal potion beside me.

The fat, falling raindrops outside gradually fade to nothing

Clinking glasses, scuffling feet

Fade away into the hum of a sprawling nebula.

 

The journey of rediscovery is a lightless corridor with tracks

Still fresh from the time before.

The scent still rings in the air, from the bird of paradise

You’re trying to re-acquaint yourself with.

A stray plume, barking scarlet

Compels me forward, step by step

Like breaking an April breeze into particles

And putting the afterimage back together, I’m searching

In a game of hot and cold

For my Corinthian foothold, my unshaking center

Laying dormant in a field of resolute wildflowers

That shine like their own suns, with expletives for colors.

With this vision still fresh in my head,

I step out of the building

And embrace the quiet drizzle waiting for me.

For a second I can swear there’s a shimmer of vermillion in every droplet.

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