Mid-Morning Shadow Shapes of Transformation

A whimsical ode to love before ever falling in love

Black box sits on my shelf deeper than midnight and inside there’s a silver light.

Silver never touches bottom, suspended magically by unknown energy.

Vagueness to me — a seeming mystery. Eyes from the posters

plastered on my walls scream at me, pouring forth the silver dimension.

Yellow butterflies flutter from the fastly whirling fan, molding mystic dust into amethyst shapes.

I creep outside, sinking through the floor, gazing through the slinking waves, waging war

to see you staring down the hall, your shadow painted on the ceiling, your entire being stuck to the wall.

Come down from those high places. Stop flying around. Talk to me about the angel faces

when you come down. Come down. Let your feet touch the ground.

Don’t get trapped like me. Your journey’s wandering too far away from the sea. Devils don’t exist and neither do we.

I’ll meet you halfway. I’ll meet you on the ground. Come down. Dance with me.

Hold my hand. Let’s start a romance. Let’s romance the sands

dance on the shores. Let’s watch the leaping objects of the ocean beneath the shimmering light.

We’ll see abstract sunshine and let sea foam spray our hair. Then, softly, with a loving dare,

we’ll embrace the magic of creation, mid-morning shadow-shapes of transformation.

Copyright 1997 ~formerly A.E. Brown; now ~Aimée Gramblin