The Impression
It is the same sun
That rises the morning after
After the impression;
The life event
that presses into our skin
Like a casting of the day
Out of time
That lingers in our mouths
As if the moments
now belong to all of time
The creaming of the day’s cake—
Whipped up in shifty gleam of high clouds
Or crumbly bittersweet dark interior
Flavors how we glean
In the morning after
It is the same sun
Yet the light altered
In how we see, how we swallow
The impression tints
The landscape of our mind
Coloring everything
In impressionistic hues
Both vividly reactive
to our experience
And evocatively molded by
The allusive expression of life
It is the same sun
That rises the morning after
After the impression—
Only ours to uniquely behold…
To frame
or to reframe
