Fins
These days
we walk on air,
translucent
drifts of white proposition,
suspended in
our numb isolation,
view the world
from distanced heights,
ourselves
full-drawn upwards.
Here we
stand with our resolutions
like kings
surveying territory,
but covert
neither greed nor power,
mere
spectators as we are,
waiting for
life to recover life.
If fish
could swim through the skies
we could
reach out and touch fins.
Copyright Vickie
Johnstone, October 30, 2020
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