Indigo Muse

[Vanity]

Indigo Muse

Mornings, I hear, are full of bright yellow chirpy things.
There is also fresh coffee, and anticipation.
The spiders are pissed and the slugs have slid away.
Now the fat little rusty red robins hop through my yard.
And squirrels bounce across the neon grass.
A Disney song is queuing. I lower the blind.
Not enough Earl Grey yet.

If morning is yellow, night is blue.
Evening slides in like an old lover.
It thrums with creativity.
Night is the color purple, navy, indigo
bruised like a ripe plum.
The tree line looks like black lace against the sky.
Cute things hide and predators roam free.
Green marble eyes stare steadily, and telegraph nothing.
Lightning bugs sparkle-
cicadas whine and shake like castanets.
The pond frog croaks like a metronome.
Humanity breathes slow and deep.
Around me, there is palpable unconsciousness,
eyes darting through incarnate dreams-- and
Sleep soaks in like rum on a fruitcake.

My privacy is total, an oubliette.
I chew my pen cap,
sitting in a creamy oval of porchlight,
in a chipped white Adirondack chair.
I'm safely unneeded and undisturbed.
Breathing in the fecund green air,
I scribble thoughts wildly.
I'm not in this world really.
My body resides--but my gaze --
turns up to the stars I do not see.


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