In Which I Was Confused by the Color of the Sky

because the clouds are pink and periwinkle
and i have never felt this way
before

because i am alone

in the mornings when i have
the strange desire to curl
up in the greying empty shell
of the bathtub

swaddled in its clay cocoon
and listening to
the magnified drumming of my fingers
when i press one ear to its dry surface

because i notice things
like a single eyelash
on my fingertip.
Make a wish Claire.
with a puff
of breath it’s
gone

and because after so long at sea
sitting on the dock again
can make the world twirl
and all i wish for
is something
in the middle.
why can’t the waves lull me to sleep?

because
is an apple in the dark
still red without light
to shine
upon it?
does Plato care
if the words
i helplessly string out
do not match the ones
i have inside?
am i still a part of the game
i do not play?

because if i pass time
counting days
i cannot find
the moments in each one
to smile.
because to sleep
is not always to dream.
because ‘certain
stars shot madly
from their spheres.’

because the light is primrose
and blue
and shining
into the bathroom

because i do not have the answers

 anymore