Fire and elk
The days
spin out
And I try
to catch them
In a
gateless yawn.
It is
the end of summer
Stumbling
into silence.
A trip
never taken.
I gather
up this spillage
And sweep
the firey ashes.
This morning
wrestles me,
But it
cannot be heard.
The herd
brays on.
A lady charms
candles,
Her words
more powerful
Than she’ll
ever realise;
Her gift
of destruction.
I yearn
for the wandering
Of the
majestic elk
And this
unbearable
Temptation
of freedom.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, June 29, 2020
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