Reaching for red currants
That explode like gushers in my eager mouth
I allow the sun to golden my hair and bronze my skin.
A midsummer day dream attaches to my mind as the wind kisses my forehead, beaded with salty sweat;
Like a dragonfly to its short-lived lover,
Of giants questioning Jove, of lingering hope.
Just gold races lost by trickery,
Prevalent tales of lives morphed into moony myths,
Citizens now inured by unyielding cities of bronze;
False felicity, a world set to tarnish.
Red currants catch my spiritless eyes
And maybe for a day I can live under the guise
That one day the gold will shine with the awakening pink fingers of Aurora’s blossoming dawn.