If only I could reside in my mind and not be spread across time.
If the voices that fly would not disturb
If the scenes, obscene, could dissolve,
I write what I see as I wander the night.
Wafting on the morning breeze
Leaves, leave thoughts disturbed to flutter, to flicker, then drift
as tree branches sift wind, thinning crud
to blend back an end and lessen
barks of suffering
The Wanderer dances and dodges the edges that bind outcomes unkind as
The evening moonlight blends with the sun chequering the dirt path in the dusk.
With a graph of ick, it’s easy to find what’s vicious and mean and rescue ones caught in iniquities’ stream,
Where they hop to the front and view a splay of hues:
The deep rouge of lip color, the crystal blue-green of a settled sea, the golden – amber of a sunset that flames the night sky, orbiting a bright burgeoning light.
The bringer of good news summoned. Spread adrift the refreshed spring air
Hearts bound with joy
As fine-etched lines open the pass
For many to enter.
The wanderer left
To search and refine
Little branches left behind
Night photo by Amy Nickoloff