The Color of Lightning
A Cross-out Poem
Unfamiliar seas
some veiled landscape or
a haze.
Slowly
a man stood there, in the blue,
His face
hard.
The world
suspended.
It were early morning and like stars walking,
Mary came in and took up a smoking hot triangle of cornbread
from the skillet, lifted it to his mouth.
Then he bent,
lying on the clothes trunk.
Over the margins,
freedom, their freedom.