an imperfect ballet
(the underside of everything)
these are the berries
that feed the birds that plant the trees
this is the dance we all sway to
inside the circle we draw ’round our feet
a hole and a window were the very same thing
before the mirage of glass was invented
looking out, climbing in, always scrambling for the light
when it’s the wind that moves us
the invisible made visible only through friction
and the lost enchantment of passage
the temporary existence of each leaf
is a mirror
dawn and dusk’s lost reflection
miming minutes dressed in gold
the imminence of flight
ever present
.
.
.
October 14th, 2014 at 9:17 am
“looking out, climbing in, always scrambling for the light when it’s always the wind that moves us”
Beautiful!
October 14th, 2014 at 1:19 pm
the invisible made visible only through friction…cool line…only as we rub up against each other…and sometimes it seems just like that…the mirror of the leaf too is cool, playing on the metaphor….
October 18th, 2014 at 8:08 pm
you make it look so easy ~
xo
October 21st, 2014 at 4:52 pm
You do make this look easy–and you do it again and again!