A Poem a Day (548): Trance

 
Trance 

We seek what we can,
in turning find ourselves in essence,
scraped clean from steamed windows,
the wide-set eyes of the soul.
Squat houses dot the backbone
of this skinny strip, pearl sand sinking out;
chill waters echo the mountain colours
rising like dripping paint on canvas.
A blue arc of tears. Purple sounds.
You can count a hundred breaths here
in the stillness of a pale pink dawn,
this transparent streak of morning
echoing light.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 15, 2023