Daydreams

Saturday Poetry Prompt: rework the phrase

by Harsh Palkar on Unsplash

I’ve awoken
acute and aware
on a bright white winter
morning, alert
to the shape of black birds
punched out of the porcelain sky,
and I’ve come to
on a summer day
hours past dawn, blurry
and fading gradually into the haze
with the soft buzzing of bees
bringing me about
Now, I never come around,
unable to meet the hours
that no longer welcome me
I take the mist
rising up out of thin air
and carry it into the shadow
of myself, turning
over its potential
in the dark,
clutching it close, attached
to the expectation
of what today should be
No matter the season,
my projections always have wings
They rise
when they go up
in flames like paper
after diving down
on their own, determined
as a blue jay descending,
or being taken down
like a jet shot
out of the sky to burn
It’s always hard to say goodnight,
but I go back to sleep
and watch them try
to fly again tomorrow