On The Back of Day

The sky lies gray

Heavy and leaning against the city

Against my heart

Curtains pulled aside

I invite the leaden sky to trickle in

Wrapping me in a shroud

The day exhales on the window pane

Beads of water sliding, slipping, twisting

Running fast, colliding

Then easing again into solitude

Solitude begging

Begging me to fall forward

Forward through the glass

And onto the back of day

Together we amble down the window pane

Along the gutter

Seeping into the paint-chipped walls

Curling across a scattered leaf

Dry and hollow, brittle as a flame-tinged moth

Day cupped inside leaf, immersed in rain

We are caught up, swirled by an easterly wind

And dropped, scattered into and against

The pistols of spring’s first daffodil

Sweet day rears his head

And catches me by the heel

Come this way, he calls

This way into the yellow

This way into the honey

This way into the pollen

And onto the back of day