Your image took me by surprise -
higher than seagull ever flies,
ethereal, wafer-thin it seemed,
translucent as the morning skies.
My feet made contact with the shore,
while aspiring heart and eyes
were lost in thrall to windy heights,
a lonely, waning-moon-shaped kite -
the shadow-soul that fades with azure
day, and flares to gold by night.
No string restrained your reverie:
high above the sighing sea
you soared in effortless,
untrammelled flight, defying gravity.
Hovering between the earth
and wilderness of galaxies,
you inspire the tides to turn
and follow you, and me to write -
though lines drawn in the sand are soon
erased, and speech evaporates.
The spirit's imprint is invisible,
and free as light…
Moon-kite
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103101800346
Свидетельство о публикации №103101800346
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