I see the yellow song upon my paper
the colour of the sun or the
centre of a daisy
petals down

I didn’t mean to wake you, Jonas.
but when I heard the broken blind
scraping against the dry wall
I thought it was morning.

I wanted to rise early
before the sky was with sun
without coat or shoes
and go into the untouched streets

Yes, Jonas, yes, you say they don’t exist
but in the night I saw
the yellow song
and I am not convinced that
I was
dreaming.

~ Melodie Corrigall

Originally published in: West Coast Review