Aquarius
We’re in the
Age
of Aquarius,
I couldn’t say.
Fish swim
backwards,
the Earth
seeks its feet.
We could go
wading
if the
skies clear,
count
starfish in the sun,
teach them
to walk on land,
a five-sided
dice.
Can you
breathe underwater,
beneath it
all,
the days
and the nights,
find shelter
in the blue?
We wait for
rainbows
to
transport us away
into
storybooks of old,
ogres and spinning wheels,
fair maidens
unfurling hair.
Do they
always follow rain,
these half-moon
smiles,
Crayola
colours washing over?
We light
lanterns,
pave with
colourful crêpe,
cast fluorescent
lights
echoing
their own sound.
In this Age
of Aquarius
are rainbows
allowed?
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, December 17, 2020
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