To See Somewhere

It's the moment

after it ends,

and the trees green looks much too green,

an out-of-place piece that eyes can't grab.

So, you stare

at the unreal but real tree.

Too green

and much too there.

-

It's the moment

before it begins,

the trees are green, the dirt is brown, and the sky is blue—

but it's cloaked in a cloudy gray.

A ghost's hands covering the eyes.

A dull static in the brain.

So, you stare

at a place called Nowhere.

-

It's the moment

during its unmapped journey,

and honey grass sways around indigo barked trees with sunlight leaves

and violet moss grows thick on decrepit armor, home to iris butterflies

and sheer spiders steal the world's hues as they make obsidian webs

and waters hold a titian sky as it keeps the sage sirens under

and—

and it ends, and you stare

back at There.

-

It's the moment

in-between the real and the almost real

where this world is too bright to just-opened eyes,

that world still flickers a candle's blood light.

Where the edges of colors touch before realizing

This tree's blue. That tree's green.

So, you stare,

but it's all there just the same.

-

It's these moments,

a second long fire or a stone made century.

Tricking the Sandman.

Where one step touches blushing vines and the other medallion roads

to believe that a much too green tree can grow sunlight leaves—

is Somewhere on empty pages.

So, I stare

There and Nowhere.