Lord, I’m tired of feeling
like these rain-washed
windows and skies
of nothing. I do not
want to be a puddle
on a gray gravel road
anymore. I want to feel
like a midnight sky
on a clear day, be as
unpredictable as a week
in New England – one
moment, as busy as Boston
in the noontime of a sunny
spring day; and the next,
peaceful as Maine
on a warm day.
I am tired of feeling
like an oil-covered swan,
looking like a wet tree in winter.
I want to be an eagle
free to soar wherever
I may, looking like an angel
in the snow. I want to be
New York in the fall,
New Hampshire in the winter,
South Carolina for the spring,
and Indiana in the summer.
I’ll be Vermont at sunset,
and Ohio at sunrise. I am
tired of feeling like mushy
leaves on a sidewalk
or brown snow banks, the leftovers
of a fun afternoon. I long to feel
like the sun must touching
the wet grass in the morning,
to look like Orion in the summer,
shining like the moon
in the middle of the night.