flip flop;
these words to my chagrin, unruly children
not where it is meant to go...
silly words.....
in the shadow of the day, your fading smile;
butterflies wing across meadows
write music...make music...listen up close...taste of
honey in the air, sounds, tastes, sensations;
from a piece of wood, a few strings attached;
springs enormous tenderness;
a butterfly stringing wooden instrument
butterfly flapping...
a rose bloomed into something else...
exasperates butterfly
it turns away... but the new flower holds a secret
only the right butterfly knows....
when that one comes there is no turning away...
unpredicatable natures confound some;
but not the right one;
to recognise the real beauty of the moon, the secrets it spills
one needs moon like eyes;
in the corner of the town square....a thing disappeared;
a familiar....i wanted to catch you before you left.,
i fail
so i dream of a village on a mountain;
far away, in a peninsula down below;
winds rustle ....in one of these
places...a sleeper dreams, sharing in the dream;
i dream
oceans float as if they were little children
indian, pacific, atlantic...
being contained in one tidy basin
even if it is as large as the sea, is not fun;
a craving for freedom........
but the sky, sky that extends beyond lines of infinity, to move with
no restrictions...
birds that do not need licence to fly;
SHANTHA HULME 11April 2016. On G+
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