I first detected your shadow on my road
before I saw you. I felt it
protecting my face from the sun,
while exposing my less obvious, more fragile
skin to its consuming fire as if the burn
branded me away from a shaken innocence.
You wildly charged my sputtering,
40s,
obscure,
dark and gray movie reel.
Caribbean blues and oranges
illuminate a fresh art to me, vision.
We became stars of our own blockbuster.
Lots of digitals, nothing substantial.
Initial boom, fading hype.
Then when I turned to lead us headlong
down a thrush-filled stretch of our road,
you let the penetrating glare from the sun
scold and stab my tender back,
leaving scorched scars in the shape of claws.
I survived the trek
and cast off the final blindness,
just as they do in the movies.