I can sense your soul
slipping and hanging there
like a mid-morning cat,
and your grasp on clarity
becomes a porous scene
from monotone lungs.
and your grasp on clarity
becomes a porous scene
from monotone lungs.
But the sun is pale
and whisked with wings
and whisked with wings
like smooth vanilla tea
and I can feel you clinging
to the tiny white feathers
in the garden.
in the garden.
Photo Credit: Vavovi Rec
Beautiful poem, and the photo illustrates it so well.
ReplyDeleteLovely!
ReplyDeleteGreat images.
ReplyDelete"mid-morning cat" - that's an awesome image!
ReplyDeleteSublty said darling. We are all on our window of temporary brooding - we sit our souls there and ponder with eyes open against the light. Not well put I know but just to say thank you for this elusive feeling I have in my heart :)
ReplyDeleteYou use words like a cat-- playfully yet with a sense of purpose-- nicely done!
ReplyDeletehttp://mairmusic.wordpress.com/
perfect rhythms and breath taking words.
ReplyDeleteunbeatable poetry.