Streams of Imagination
early dawn cracks the wispy air
open , wandering around viscous spaces
like fairy shadows caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
taller than maple trees delicately rustling
the garnet of late Indian summer when
birds, orbits and urchins listen to
a single searching sun… when all else
is sprawled quiet, there comes this
certain fired imagination straying on
mouths of gentleness far beyond
nuptials of effervescent realms…
someone said morning becomes Electra,
that learning how to hear a pear or
grain unravel the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
unfurl its leaves far beyond unknowing a
heart’s need to be: the juice spills streams
waking new faces of time, bending the width
of life's rhyme through endless mystery...
a thousand times before and after, daybreak
and night twine... that in tints of all hues,
passing through fables of any season
is poetry's way of coming back to itself.
Justin Bordner's How Poetry Began Contest
by nette onclaud
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