Monday 5 May 2014

1 Poem by Morgan Bazilian


The night imbued with light.
The wind barely moving the leaves,
Hardly leaving an impression
While completing an exhale.

The pink and orange imperceptible
In a direct stare,
Apparent only peripherally
Exhumed trees and edges.

The sky just opening
Breathing in the still grasses,
And the dandelion seeds.
The morning no longer a dream.

Everyday as the next day,
imbued with fullness
allowing passage to a new genre.

The lighting individually deigned,
ubiquitous and seamless,
devoted to reality and all its prescriptions.

A minute time for reflection,
feet deeper and deeper in the sand
as the waters retreat.

No illusion at all,
But a small fairly tale,
(albeit a bit parochial).


My last five stories were published in: Eclectica, Shadowbox, South Loop review, Embodied Effigies, Glasschord.

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