To a Place

Light lies

in wait of day to spread

rumors of color.

Let all truth rain

down in bloodless drops

from leaden skies:

molten dome

over water not silver blue,

boyhood days ago.

Same water,

flat, wormy taste,

gray eyes

see color

as color is:

a smoky fire,

the dingy ash

of white lies

floats silently.

Let them rise,

bubbling foul spring,

from gray watershed

eyes to a place

of all truth,

to a place

of all lies,

past blank stares

into albescent skies.

William R. Stoddart lives in Monroeville, Pennsylvania. His short fiction appears in The Pittsburgh Quarterly Online and Projected Letters. His poetry has been published recently by The Adirondack Review and The Pedestal Magazine.