Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel back
into the wishing time,
see the days run together,
crouched in forward kneel.
You could wander off-keel,
throw breadcrumbs to the wolves,
water flowers with words.
These patterns in ever-circles
drip time. Seeds blow out.
Dandelions lose their heads
to view the world on air.
We talk of moving pictures,
visions within sensible things,
thoughts so wild we freeze.
Take a chance on substance,
throw a seven-sided dice,
a never-landing split echo
of choice, redoubled, rethought.
We watch the morning bend
in an explicit rainbow hour,
trying to remember how to
shower the earth in colour.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 3, 2021
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