1:58 p.m. - 2006-10-09
From a Neon Pink Raft ...
Life looks so different from a neon pink raft. Plumeria scented atoms spin ecstatically, producing colors I have not known. God is so close you could lift a lazy brown hand to touch, if you had the inclination. From a neon pink raft. Diamond Head mutes and sharpens before my very eyes. Figure and ground collide, making mischief. A row of dark trees emerge and recede. Or so it seems, from a neon pink raft. The lullaby of lapping swells, tepid as a womb, rock me somewhere remote and vividly present all at the same time. From a neon pink raft. I can see my friend, the size of a dream, reading her book under the blue umbrella. From a neon pink raft. Conversations waft about me like some cosmic party line. Children squealing. Fathers coaxing. From a neon pink raft. The engine of a boat sends me paddling. The reef laughs. I am safe. I spash my legs, burnished by the tropical sun. Aqua beads adorn my hot skin, then disappear. I float in the turquoise, watching the kaleidoscope turn all about me. From a neon pink raft. There is no time. No frame of reference save my friend, all but imperceptible now. This could be any era. I could be anyone. There on my neon pink raft. Only God knows my name. Holding me as if I were precious. Breathing me into something called July. I am free. Never more anonymous. Never more me. There on my neon pink raft.
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