Bouncing a Ball on Asphalt
Poem
Published in
Dec 24, 2020
Tip towards the swayed oak
the willow waits in endless sway
moving with the wind.
A small dog yelps
making its presence known.
Your hands glide over torn things
Making mends in creation.
As the scales fade
we grow towards small flickers
ever present light
blurring shadows from predators.
Highlighting the final
flashes of endless moss
covered moments…
You ready to twist
with the whirls
together?
