after rainstick
How the heart shaped helicopter seed
is her heart in the silverlight of dawn
paints the scene a pageantry. A blessing.
Her flail, both furious and delicate,
falls blizzard-like in the haze of a hurricane
(where storms become the love of storms)
and lets fly, rises and spreads wing
so that what happens next is a joy
we could not know to hope for:
an effusive half-stop of descent,
lost in atmosphere, holds- then releases-
as if a shift in the everlong of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment