Pointing
Above me clouds halfway turn
Pink, gold blue, purple green,
Cool and lovely and cheer.
I walk to the edge of the ledge and stop.
Below the mountains, far far below,
A slender curl gleams
And disappears.
Beyond,
The sun is bowing....bowing........gone.
And on a rock behind me,
Stepping out, one hand on one high hip,
The rhyme of my song, the reach of my climb,
Smiling, in ecstacy, hair flung out, pointing,
To me, to the rock, to herself!
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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