"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Clear Skies

The sky looked down
and seeing me broken,
reached out and brushed his hand
against my shoulder.
“Come with me,” he said.
So I followed him, for his eyes,
though fathomless, were kind.
I belonged to the bat’s wing at dusk,
and the swallow’s arc at dawn
until the space
beneath my heart grew brave.

I am taking a creative sabbatical from writing, as I work on the seemingly mammoth task of compiling a "Collected Works" of poetry, taken from my seven years of blogging. The time seems right to go back and read over what I have accumulated, sort the wheat from the chaff and, ultimately, decide where my poetry will go in the future.

If you have an interest in perusing any of these past pieces, please visit Skylover. It is a comment free space, with the focus on reading.
At any other time I may be found in The Imaginary Garden, where the real toads hang out - and who could ask for better company?