At Market

At market

Beneath the silver lining of my private  sky,
I peer with heavy lids
Laden with the need for sleep.
Yet I am transfixed by marvels
Unknown to me,
Sounds somewhat familiar
From months spent tucked tightly
In a taut cocoon:
The low din of a throng of voices;
Bustling echoes lost while wandering
Through the clusters of strawberries,
Ruby raspberries, jeweled cherries
In small bright pyramids;
The rows of rich dark chocolates, soft floral cakes, and  sticky glossy tarts;
And clusters of radiant flowers, looping and curling.
As I bumble by, eyes glassy and wide and rimmed with red,
I cannot, will not, close my eyes
And shut the wonder out.