The Tall Grass

The velvet is heavy and red,

a curtain that splits like a wound.

I’m holding the things that he said,

the way that his childhood was tuned.

Then he’s out in the yellowing light

with his face painted white as a sheet.

He’s never been quite this bright,

standing there tall on his feet.

The dust motes are dancing in air,

illuminated and swirling and free.

I look at his chest and his hair

and see someone different from me.

He’s a target for every eye,

a person the world gets to keep.

I want him to soar in the sky,

but the fall is so jagged and deep.