When we wake, birds pulverizing air; the plumes
of night still purple the sky. Everywhere, these birds voice
themselves, knowing something we don’t.
It’s spring, they say. It’s spring.
Cherry blossoms must live on our tongues now,
and our brows furrow with flowers. We open our mouths
and sunshine pours out, sepia glass yawns of it.
O, but what has time done to us? This caved life,
the deep seeping unseen of it, the gnarled banks
twisting with twigs, the expanse of universe pinned
to my living room walls, drawn on navy architectural paper.
What if everything is true? That we are becoming birds again,
that our skin shines with whisked gull feathers
and brightest green seaweed.
All This Time by Carolyn Wilsey | Sandalwood Rose Reed Diffuser
Nature’s intricacies inspire Carolyn Wilsey to write poems, sometimes surreal ones. “All This Time” was originally published by Third Wednesday Magazine, and her poems appear in publications including Pigeon Pages, Pretty Owl Poetry, Rogue Agent, Stirring, Eclectica, The Virginia Normal, and Quiet Lightning.
