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Bottlebrush and Greyhound
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself
as when, this morning, alongside
the power station fence,
I passed under a red cloud
of bottlebrush flowers
dripping nectar in a frenzy
of birds feeding on the sticky
clusters overhead,
too high for me to reach
and plunge my hand
into the pure joy
of that crimson feast.
And when a greyhound,
let loose from its leash,
ran past me with such speed
and grace, I longed to be
its stride, the power propelling
it across the grass
and into the distance, turning
in the wide arc
of its own happiness.
I would have given anything
to dissolve into its bounding
freedom, undone from my leash
of old age and the slow shuffle
of aching feet.
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself,
if only for a moment.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
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