The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Kinzy Janssen

Semblance

If someday

our vines

tapered into the sky,

even if you twine the downspout

and I take the open air, exposing

myself at every angle,

perhaps the eventual sameness

of sky cannot be

dismissed.

But there is a question

of threshold. If you enter the sky, I may not

agree.

Say you feel the sky envelop

you at roof-level? 

Say my tolerance is higher,

entreating a deeper blue?

And there will be a confrontation

with the sun. At this inescapable hour,

the sun will be asking

for shadows. Your larger leaves projected upon

a sidewalk containing mine. They mingle;

sharpen. Our shapes traceable

when the sun squints,

whether or not

we take notice.

Moments were doors

and we pushed

on the hinges.

It never occurred to either of us

to teach each other

anything but superimposition.