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I remember sky |
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It was blue as ink |
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Or at least, I think |
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I remember sky |
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I remember snow |
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Soft as feathers, |
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Sharp as thumbtacks, |
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Coming down like lint |
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And it made me squint |
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When the wind would blow |
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And ice like vinyl on the streets, |
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Cold as silver, white as sheets |
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Rain like strings |
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And changing things |
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Like leaves |
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I remember leaves |
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Green as spearmint, |
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Crisp as paper |
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I remember trees |
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Bare as coatracks, |
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Spread like broken umbrellas |
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And parks and bridges, ponds and zoos, |
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Ruddy faces, muddy shoes, |
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Light and noise |
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And bees and boys |
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And days |
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I remember days |
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Or at least, I try |
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But as years go by, |
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They're a sort of haze |
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And the bluest ink |
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Isn't really sky |
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And at times, I think |
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I would gladly die |
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For a day of sky |
