The Archway Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The tunnel of pine trees
melts, as slapping hands
of sun rays bend branches
to bow to their ashy shadows.

They stand stiff behind
swords of twigs and leaves
flipping out sharp-pointed wings.

The branches beam amid
green ribbons and graffiti
of leaves still powdering
themselves with powder light.

O rays, from your cream
dab cheeks of pale leaves
with mascara from thickening
shadows and shades
of ivory devoured by graphite.

(ii)

The sun rays slap off lanky
grasses, trim creeping weeds
and shave off dark spots
of fleeting birds enjoying
protocol between bowing

knights of trees, as they sail
back and forth within
home's reach, their taupe
oval nests the only
swaying castles in the gold light.

As I lie in bed peeking
at the archway, my only wish
is a crane's boom head

to land me in the archway
to ride through
a breeze of lifting sun rays.