strong sun

The sky was heavy the day
I decided I liked orange
and pink together, torn

down the gray, octopus curtain
and placed a flower-bombed
flag in its place

sprinkled bits of periwinkle
to calm the delight,

a shocked, blank edge
calling where the cacophony
of color concluded

and I would sink into the heat
of a long bath, another too
cold day - the sun has slept

for weeks in Seattle,

to float between the shattering
like when I was very small
like a torn hibiscus bleeds –

laying face-up in a kiddie pool
legs a tad too long and splayed
in the time-eating heat

I tried to rub the sun from my eyes

but it just sunk in more
until I could see it behind
closed lids

like a dream in focus:
my body a boat gone
adrift

and sought this halting heat
that pauses every thing,

this version of me –
just a little more time.