Pieces of the Window

Source. Pexels. Marta Wave, Photographer

Rhythms by Lisa Marie Popp






I always knew the color of the Air

would allude me from the moment

I strained to see it the first time

through the veil of Earth


In search of the one true song

in acid gossip of caustic wind

in wry pucker of lemon-colored moon

and sour blinking of jaundiced stars


in pieces of window

been caught up in

the swallow breath

of elated respiration


Been witness

to the life force

in profound and mingling vapors

in search for the one true song


been wistfully diffused

among random echoes

been awestruck naked by the rise

of vaulted ceilings


I know the chill of hardwood floors

the smoothness of stairs

and the deep cello notes

of prayers


I once kept the love alive

on bending knees and wringing hands

hoping for a nod

I once hummed the virgin’s mantra


Miscarried my rebirth

while murmuring Amen

Kissed the rings of fishermen

hoping for a God


Been alone

among the clones

in this faceted dimension

looked into the house of mirrors


Jagged multiples of me

washing through streams

of illusions and slivers

of a whittled God


Been an idol unto myself

beyond God

beneath Earth

around Sky.