Sunday Space

Sunday Space

Sunday knows

the space between candle

and  light,

bird and flight;

knows how

(for only a day)

to lose 

the treadmill hours 

marking warpaint on a skull,

the breathing null

exhaling its glue

to which all things fly 

up the smoking week's flue.

Sunday's

closed eyes   

remember  sight, 

remember

there's no space

between wine and cup

wing and flight

once the bird jumps up.

~February 2014, 

revised & rewritten, April 2014

posted for      real toads

Weekend Challenge:Sundays

Kenia Cris(An ExerciseOnExisting) asks us to write on the theme of Sundays. She actually asks for a particular Sunday, but I'm afraid mine is a bit more general. I wrote the skeleton for this poem a few months back, but it had nothing about Sunday in it, and didn't seem to have a point, so thanks, Kenia, for giving this poem a place to go.

Images: Top: Wheatfield With A Lark, 1887, by Vincent Van Gogh
Footer: View of The Hague With The New Church, 1882, byVincent Van Gogh
Public domain via wikipaintings.org