No
path; the barren places
point
upward to a jagged sky
of
tarnished blue. I look
for
a cloth to polish the clouds,
unkempt
and unruly,
but
find only pebbled dust
to
wash their edges. Seeds
scatter
among the stones,
unborn.
Photograph: Red Rock Canyon by Shari
Weinsheimer via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
This really speaks to where I am right now.
ReplyDeleteyeah,what she said.
ReplyDeleteLove this " I look
ReplyDeletefor a cloth to polish the clouds"
LOL -- that cloth today here in snowy Alberta would be very, very busy! :)
I love the image of polishing the clouds, and how your poem speaks to all the work we must do, each of us on our own path, to create and maintain our better selves; and that wonderfully hopeful sign of seeds, waiting to be brought to fruition.
ReplyDeleteOne of your best poems, Glynn.
breed love or contempt
ReplyDeleteawaiting their fate
conditions of the heart
in a dry land
I'm such a rock-oriented person. Know your poem was intended differently, but the beauty of the colors and the textures, both rock and sky, just catch my attention and hold it tightly.
ReplyDelete