Confessions

Confessions

Oprah, from the lunar surface, colors
beyond blue disappear into puddles.
Here, on earth, our eyes entrain to yellow
though I confess, I see mainly in grey
and don't want to be all that I can be.
All I really crave is a firm, warm, bed,
a safe haven, an ordinary job,
a clock that keeps time bead by dropping bead
and my grandchildren gathered all around.
I have learned to love the broken people
who choose one dead end after another,
and I am learning how to fail better.