Daybreak

Doesn’t it scare you this blue

morning repeatedly its

intensities; the chatter

as chaotic, all together

worms discovering the bird

song onto them. Deeper

into the ground

until winter, hell

by river, flicker the lantern

candlesticks. Singed

and thin the dove

bones seeding weeds.

Toward day, colder than

dirt, into clay.

Driving the Blue Jewel

Idling leather, my mother’s

fur coat useless without wind

forcing its skin zipped, indulging

indigo. My bloody heart

warmer color implies, windows

airing my hair memories

in ring-gripped fingers.

Steering the backyard limbo

ride bent sky-blind,

smiling. Crisp, cool beneath

carport pull string, room

temp beers still boxed, I ease

the beast from the house’s

undertow, bottomless berry

bruise rushing to the touch.

Spacious fruit, ripe fruit.

Navy-shaded eyes star

the night in doldrums; essential

deflections capturing affairs

in daylight, surprised

by the seamless fit of an alibi.

Patrick Paridee Samuel is the author of And Another Thing (Broken Sleep Books) and the chapbook A Suite of Heads (Ghost City Press). He received an MFA from Columbia College. His most recent work appears or is forthcoming in Another Chicago Magazine, Seaford Review, and Villain Era. Patrick lives in Nashville where he works in university press publishing.