Geranium

In the glen
rise trees of a green sky
stand gray cliffs
parting our vision
drawing us on
forward
ever forward

as the stream bubbles
and gargles
the days of our life
into pools
or waterfalls

and the sound of our steps
patting the trail
well marked
drowns out the ballad
perched on a limb
that sings for us
from above

until caught in a blink
a purple spot
draws us sideways
(because purple
can do that)

into the open
where the Sky
free to be blue
and the Song
free to be heard
weaves with skill
a linen of Purple.

 

bn (2003)