in want of purple clouds & more mornings 

i'm not sure how anyone can sleep in.
i can remember this was something i did
use to be able to do. there was this one morning
in a bed i don't remember in a room i don't
remember but yes it was the house on main street
& there was wallpaper with green vines. 
i woke up & ignored the sun through 
all three of my windows. i woke up 
& i pulled the covers over my head 
to make a sort of wanton of ravioli
of myself & i slept & slept. i swam 
in & out of dreams. there was one where 
i was at a doctor's office & they were
feeding me lollipop after lollipop 
& then another where i was riding the swing
at the park & reaching higher & higher
with each motion. today i wake up
& i listen to the fan on top of my dresser.
i press my face into the pillow & consider
what the sidewalk might want for me
& if i can trust a memory from my 
six year old self or if it is just
something i've invented after years
in this body. there were other mornings
too though, i reason. there were
saturdays in high school with the window cracked
& the sound of horse hooves on the street
asking me to consider the hills & 
the farmer's market up the street.
i tuck my legs closer to myself.
i pretend momentarily to be 
a mollusk. a hermit crab maybe.
i will never have to wake up & move 
about the world & pull clothes on 
& ask the mirror what i should look like.
i close my eyes & live in my finger tips.
my room has no windows now & i wonder 
what color the morning sun is making
if it remembers purple. if the grass has
dew or frost. if it is really this 
late in the year & we let all the leaves die
again & we let all the warm 
out of the dirt again & there will be
bare brown branches soon to remind us
of our skeletons. am i really 
made of bark? is this where i should
wake up? did i ever get up
from the morning in the house on main street?
maybe this is still me & i am still there
& i am still arranging my pillows
& i am going to slip back into a dream
where the swing at the park squeaks 
as it takes me up into 
the (hopefully) purplish clouds.
there is always something to look forward to
in color. there is always going to be 
another july. i cannot explain to you 
what i need sometimes but i do know 
that maybe i once had it & i slept
similarly to how someone might drown 
by mistake. i'm holding my breath. no i'm just
standing up. i'm just a tree with blushing 
orange leaves & i pick them from my hair.
no i am a boy with one pillow
& a grey warm blanket i step out of.