Rivulets
These
pungent colours pack a punch,
run in
single rivulets searching,
find
solace in the in between,
the evidential
stop and start.
It’s the
flow until the end,
a
delicate line drawn underneath
this
elevation to ardour,
a
pretence we no longer have.
Take watch
of eagles in flight,
the soar
and the silver arch,
the dip
in a separated sky,
once launched,
floating on high.
We draw
our hands together,
turn our
palms up to the sun
collecting
its beaten yolk rays.
It seeps
through our fingers.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, September 11, 2021
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