dipping my fingers in the golden strands of evening

sitting idly under the peeling white columns of the portico

washed in amber light the last cicadas of the evening serenade the setting sun

the sun filtered through the delicate honeyed traceries of a bees wing

I seem to separate

twining my way upwards past peeling paint like the flakes of old memories

casting no shadow on the tawny lit pillars seeming to stretch for eternity

below me my body remains chin in hand staring into the face of the sun

eyes shining green against the liquid fiery light lost in my mind

I fly free above the world

the light is heavy golden syrup and I swim through it as a simple concept

free of body or reality but still slowed by the lethargy of a summer sun set

I inspect every crack seeing with my minds eye while my memory retreats

to other summer days drifting through my consciousness flakes of sound and vision

falling around me like the chips of cracked paint

these flakes have seen the past felt my back rubbing against them brushing some loose

as I rested or laughed even as I slept in the arms of those who are gone

the paint flecks gracing their hair on occasion lighting softly among the strands

glowing touched by the tawny light broken only by motes of dust and buzzing bees

but those times sank as the sun will set into the infinity of the night

far above and in me my mind watches the sun sink below the horizon

now my eyes reflect only the glint of a plane still above the line of dusk

the memories creeping closer to my heart the flakes of vision falling faster now

finally the stars begin to glimmer in the inky night my porch lit by a surreal glow

as the past finally finds its way in and I return to my body