BLUE BOWL

A row of red trees, a cerulean bowl
rolled between upturned palms.
The weight of the bowl, like an ocean.

A man in a red jacket
ride his bike up main street
with a large blue parrot
clinging to his shoulder.
Blue feathers like tide pools
on a bright red sea.

The dark room wraps itself around you.
Your eyes, darkness falling from your face
as you breathe in the light.
Your eyes gather in the moths,
and irregular fluttering of hearts
fanning the flames,
burnt wings rekindled in your eyes.

11/21/83
One of the few poems I dated. From NPC journal
I think that last stanza become Mothlight