Circular pools
Morning, as we know it,
numbers shunted in a circle,
a merry-go-round spun on tides.
Day comes too swiftly to it,
opens with a rain of song,
light, feathered, lithe play.
Our way is lit with promise.
Yellow splits the sky wide open,
splashes the world with colour
dripping from the bluest sky.
We could catch it in our hands.
Our footsteps echo on stone,
avoid the saturated mud pools,
sodden leaves our carpet strewn
through this glimpse of park life.
Swans glide, eyes full on us,
expectant, but we are empty handed.
The lake blows, circular pools
mimic our expression and vanish
into waters clear as conscience.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 22, 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting :)