Napowrimo day 5

by larapayne

A Taste of Green

Sharpness on the tongue
beckons me into the now
have I ever been this much
in my body, only now
that it is not fully my own?
The trees bloom early
this year. When
are you most yourself?
Winter branched,
summer blurred.

Constrained. More laughter
less sleep. Pillow envy.
Yawn and stretch. Look
only through trees
sky tinted red, green and gold.

Wind from an unknown source.
This room more voice than air.
Everyone a little tender
at the end of winter.
Why allow less?

I cheated a bit, as I drafted this poem last week. But my poem from today is at home, and I won’t be there until tonight. I’ll post it for tomorrow.