I was inspired to write this poem from a dream I had...from about three years ago. The title of the piece is significant because the dream was layered. The color of the dream shifted from color to sepia to black and white, and the structure of the poem reflects this, at least I think it does. Please keep in my that this is a relatively new draft - I think it has a ways to go before it's near completion, but it's an exercise for me - this is the longest poem I've written so far. Enjoy!
xo,
Ari
____________________________
Three Deep
Jogging down
the road
autumn leaves
whirling, rustling
and the feel of
cold, crisp air
on my pinked cheeks.
A Holy ruin,
the white wooden
house rests hillside—
window panes and
porch parched and
cracked, clumsy rusted
hinges,
on the door,
and a sign for sale
stuck slanted.
Yellowed brown,
paneled papered walls,
carpet shagged and soft
under my shoes,
a warmth in this house.
In the kitchen
nailed up
suspended with string
a photograph—
a wedding,
a man and
me.
A disorienting dizzy pain,
I fall to floor,
body and eyelids
sink and slump.
Blackness all over.
Space solemn and empty,
film reels flick
embrace me
my soul feels, no form
just eyes in air
there, you are.
Hollow and heavy
I feel—
you, I’ve known before.
Your name unknown,
but soul familiar,
I loved—
you and you—
loved
me
beautifully.
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