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