A black baseball cap
A puddle reflecting shattered starlight
A green metal patio chair outside the motel
A bottleneck guitar slide whining the octave
A batiked curtain a California poppy
A J-Church streetcar lurching into sunlight
You’re lost inside your life your voice gone husky
A luna moth on a breezeway lattice
A lime green sport coat the cuffs rolled up past the wrists
An outdoor café the streetlights glowing jaundiced
You’re lost inside your life on another street
A koa baritone uke strumming Moon River’s chords
A handpainted teacup a red pincushion
Black cottonwood limbs in 5:00 a.m. jaundiced fog
You’re asleep on a sofa the light an April goldfinch
A passionate kiss without the least recollection
A driftwood log charred black
An order of french toast the sunlight oozing honey
You’re anxious as usual the coffee cup’s bone white
A waxing moon at 3:00 p.m. a cornflower sky unfurled
A teardrop mandolin a red accordion
You’re lost inside life you’re sporting a Panama hat
A island in Lake Champlain a silver thunderhead
A harmonic minor scale a hawthorn bush
The hardest poem you’ll ever write until
The hardest poem you’ll ever write a long goodbye
Your life will you ever waken
Jack Hayes
© 2010
“In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.”
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