in the middle of a field

in a bed not of roses

but of marigolds

an old man sleeps the sky

as he wakes mushy

the absence of sleep, palpitating

another life, another body

something blurry, something blue

beckons him

with no face, half a face

he mirrors in the yellow sky

the blue eyes that belonged to his father

and before to his father’s father

are now about to fade into grey 

pecked at by the birds of prey

every morning

he prays not to dye

for the world already breathes color

for the inhaling eye

Picture: Dalle-2 AI