The little centre spins,
sometimes whirling around
like a drunken duck.
Spirals turn inwards
drilling into depths
in order to find the
healing of peaceful waters.
In search of Inner Peace
Reply
Soft Air
The air is soft today –
the air which leads my hair towards the west.
My eyes search quizzically
across rough grasses
to the wooden bridge where you stand.
You lean awkwardly,
staring moodily at the stream’s gentle flow
and I wonder ……….
will you pass my door
when the owls are high in the silent sky.
These orbs ~
such radiant pleasure
to softening eyes.
Cracking open,
their prickliest
skins -revealing
juicy fulsomeness;
hearts filled with
browned Autumn’s
chocolatey glaze.
And you my love ~
where were you?
Where w e r e you
when these trees
began to die?
You were in my arms
as our tears fell,
just like falling leaves.