Life on repeat

 
This is where I've been,
amid the stalks and grains,
buried somewhere
you'll never think to look.

That's my genius, they say,
and my curse,

to always find what I need
where I can't share it
with anyone else.
Not now, not ever.

On my bike in the winter,
thawed by my thoughts,

dreaming of that summer
and wondering, loudly,
a speech to the frozen trees.
Bold, they say, quite so.

And like the lights shine,
so far off in the clouds,

we can be an inspiration,
something to stare at
when the phone hits the wall.
Something beautiful, indeed.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Sufjan Stevens, All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands