Visions
Visions
of perfected pages,
light curls
paper edges.
This
slow burn unfolding,
it
snarls and ignites,
a
stammer withheld,
flames
in flight like birds,
feathers
spread in a fan.
We lift
on the backdraft,
our arms
in suspension,
an
umbrella of curves,
the cosmic
overseer.
We are
lifted up and out.
The drop
is not so far,
this fire
all enduring.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, September 9, 2021
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