A Whiter Shade of Pale

“Must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm.
Must be somewhat heartening to watch shepherd meet Shepherd.”
- Alanis Morisette, Uninvited

These cryptic compass points
That plot the corners of this paper universe,
Confuse me now.
I am to wait
Till a fuller moon, deep in its white,
Ruffles oceans and lets violet
Ink my whiteness.

All is blank – like snow plastered
Over shores and sands.
This sky that frames these corners
Is also whitewashed.
A lavish blandness sweeps
These dull motes, perforating the glass.
Each step has to be tapped with precision.

I have new socks on. I leave no rude imprints
As I trespass, gyrating these listening skies,
These frozen sands and fenced shores.
I am cold: this bloodless sliver
Of a moon mocks me with its grim grin.
This should be the correct cosmos,
With its careful motes (silent yet).

I thought I heard a call,
Thrown Back in ripples from those colder corridors,
Rising and roaming, as these oceans spin
Like a careless dreamer. It is clear enough.
But this whiteness is too bright,
Too noisy for me to call back.

Maybe, if I root myself, right here,
The snow might ripen to earth.
Maybe, the motes inscribe a pattern across.
Maybe then, I’ll read my name,
Black or blue.
And then, I can unfold each shore,
And take these wet socks off.

I am tempted
To tear open this envelope,
Sealed with this pale moon.
I am terrified
To understand the meaning
Of my unlettered universe
Resting inside these paper horizons.

The glass might prick my chilblains.

7 April 2007