Illusion in Blue

by Lenore Hildebrandt

Lately, our tenses are neither
present nor past, but impossibly
absent as we try to take hold.

Contrary to what is written, you say,
the birds in the sky always
hustle for sustenance.
The fish in the sea
worry themselves dull
over tomorrow’s catch.

The rush is contagious—
I had to omit the pauses between
breathing in and breathing out.
It is winter—we don’t sleep—
we roam about the dark
in search of kernels.

Today as the snow is receding
brown grasses are laid out
to dry in the sun:
the thin carpet of life
a single line. I close my eyes
—blue water, blue sky—

and launch myself deep
in the light-world.
You come too.

–Read at St. Lydia’s on January 29