Like many who sleep in,
I dreamt of black holes, waves,
DNA. Not Merlot, T-bones,
nor bouquets. No time for
the grunts of a manatee,
the tartness of a boysenberry.
I sought light in paradox,
self in The Metamorphosis,
eternity in starlight.
Give me another chance, Apollo.
I confused rainbows with gold,
ramen with love. Let me be
a squirrel’s mandarin.
The skin is thin. Peel gently.
–
Kenton K. Yee’s recent poems appear (or will soon) in Plume, Kenyon, Threepenny, RHINO, Indianapolis, TAB, Constellations, Terrain, Cortland, Sheila-Na-Gig, The Ecopoetry Anthology: Volume II, and Rattle, among others. San Francisco-raised, Kenton earned a physics Ph.D. from UCLA and law and economics degrees from Stanford. He writes from Northern California.