Towards a Grand Idea
The morning seemed unreal,
too perfect in a way -
the waking river
where small boats ignited
like candles on being lit
by first light and where
a cormorant dived
into a blazing sun.
And here, where
a certain magic began
to find its way into
the great, glowing bulk
of a passing ship
towing its fiery wake
down river
towards a grand idea
that was forming
in a corner of the mind.
I should have left
it there in the unspoken
margins of the morning,
to gather and let
it warm, as cormorants do
by stretching out their wings
to catch the sun.
I was too impatient
and fell back
into where all things
are restrained within
their own space
and have a name.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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