Feathers
burrow in
the upflift
fluttering,
these precious things,
the barest
feel of touch
spinning. A
white glow.
Breezes take
them skyward
as if to
connect with the stars,
breathe as
high as the moon.
Scant
traces of being
blown away
and now lost.
Not
feathers but people
falling.
Saturday, 11 September 2021
A Poem a Day (473): Feathers
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting :)