With birds crossing flight at heights above
Matching thought to wings
And hearts to feathers
A valiant brow faces breadth-less horizon
The colour of the sky hides not the distance to the stars
As he thinks on places, worlds and souls
From slumber he had awoken
To see again such sight in word and magic
As sand from somewhere reminded him of waves
In need to roll and move to white crest fall
The life in swells and motion
Gives much to shape the earths rimmed lines
A soft wind touches him within
As his lips lift in corners of their length
Words fall from the golden silk bag of his muse
As she welcomes him home
mF
(C) MarkFlood2015 poem + image
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