New Light Beam

I wasn’t born this bright

And there was no way I could see

How growing up inside the dark could bring light out of me

 

I seen a new light beam

It cast onto to trees

And each drive there was a window of time

I saw the emerald sea

 

There was a humid haze between myself and the never-ending valley

With pollen speeding fast into my eyes from air-rushed alleys  

And though it hasn’t happened, I want in each morning to see your hair a mess

And to fall asleep again at sunrise and with tired eyes see you dressed

Cloaked in bed in linen sheets with your skin red below your eyelashes

Glittered in burnt freckles where your hand laid and how I wrapped it

With mine, we forgot to brush our teeth and we smell of wine

The red stained in your shirt and stained in mine

 

That’s what I see inside the summered beam of light.