Arcs
Was it the slap of fish tail
The half-wet rock just past
Or the meander through the meadow
Was it the bowing rye
The beetle's shell in its shade
Or the turn in the path to round the hill
Was it the gibbous moon
The curve of the branch that held it
Or the leaf's edge moving to the point
Was it the smile in your eyes
The line of your cheek just below
Or the curve of your hand reaching out to me
The half-wet rock just past
Or the meander through the meadow
Was it the bowing rye
The beetle's shell in its shade
Or the turn in the path to round the hill
Was it the gibbous moon
The curve of the branch that held it
Or the leaf's edge moving to the point
Was it the smile in your eyes
The line of your cheek just below
Or the curve of your hand reaching out to me
posted by MB at 8:29 AM
2 Comments:
Ooh, such lovely imagery and sound. I love "the slap of fish tail / The half-wet rock." Nice.
So glad you stopped by, Amy. I've been enjoying your blog. And thanks for your kind words.
Post a Comment
<< Home