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A Poem To Sing To Passing Owls
This is the soul of the moment
The air is pleasantly vacant of thought
The music swells beyond meaning
The field a dream fluttering
Around our sleeping heads
This trance flower and sensitive frail longing
Thought ushering rainclouds of the deepest rocks
The cliffs are jagged and sharp and flee from nobody
This catastrophic shift flails in the wind
Flying it's own grace
To the best part of its ramparts
Our owls are aloft and
Mindlessness of the trees ends all hearts
All memory of these magic nights
Another good title - how could you not look at this one.
For me the images in this poem seem to materialise out of the mist - becomeing clearer towards the end.
Sandy
good imagery... liked reference to rainclouds/rock