Some Other Light

I almost get the picture but my brain and thumb
Are out of synch, one dreaming, the other balancing stuff.
It's an old dream in a new-ish city, oil leaking skylights
Across the entire dome of tomorrow until we see
The universe and the blue sky in the same puddle;
Until the flight that carries and the flight that punctures
Are the same thing, explosions and ribbons
Ripping and lacing the sky open and whole simultaneously.
We are dreaming in gloves and calipers, only a little
Star stuff and gunpowder before the colors rend
Our sight from darkness and give us light.
Daydreaming in the city already smothered
By creeks and bayous and rivers dreaming of salt depths,
Of the deep darkness where islands are born,
Some other current, some other light
One facing the heart, one facing the heights.

Sharing today with Poets United for Poetry Pantry #498 (sorry it's not a Halloween poem!) and with The Sunday Muse for Sunday Muse #79. 

NaNoWriMo is coming up and I'm going to be going for the 50K (words, that is) this November, so I might be erratic in my poetry. While November looms before me, I'm thinking of a writing class I recently attended and how I want to approach the project this time. There is a piece that's gnawing at me, asking me whether the other pieces are dodges for the things I could say but don't. Someone claimed today that responsibility was restricted to what you do...you can't be responsible for something global (like pop culture) or for sins committed in the past...but I'm feeling like writing has become...something that shows more blindness than insight for me. And so, perhaps, this November, I'm going to pick a project I don't like and remember what it means to write about the things that bite. Or...maybe not. See you on the other side of November, when I know what I've written. 

-- Chrissa