Gold, orange, pink, red, then blue
The sun reaches its spectrum of arms and the cornea expands
A memory of a frozen one is awake
The one where smaller feet turn in circles, and eyes fixed on layers of branches
Golden arms seeps through the branches
A memory when the trees talked to you and
Earth spread and fold to be your play
The one when earth belonged to you
carried you
cradled you
wanted you
The one before when you vacated it
and chased after
When you retuned to it
the trees were smaller
the leaves fell silent
and earth was flat
but the sun
encroached you
held you with her thousand arms
held you closer to her warm breath
shone a beam to your eye
and the memory took a breath
The Sower: Vincent van Gogh: byronsmuse.wordpress.com