80spoems/linear

A LINEAR DREAM

It was always a linear dream,
that sprung from nowhere
at the left of her life,
and stopped just short
of the extreme right.

A lilac imagination,
which bloomed
every seven years,
the intervals
covered in a film
of grease and dirt.

Someday she would
tint her hair raspberry,
travel around the world,
take up sculpting.

Scarred incisions,
these lines of occasional
consciousness,
layered on top of
the empty spaces,
a silent score
in a house
with no piano.

’80-’82 Taft