the footprints
of invisible people . . .
sandstorm
distant thunder
bred by lightning . . .
a coyote's yip
the air thicker
than manuka honey . . .
how long
has it been since
we danced with bees
the brash calls
of trumpeter swans
overhead
we are always searching
for the best place to land
sunlight's tongue
flicks among oak leaves
how seductive
these age-old dances
with elusive shadows
No comments:
Post a Comment