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TITLE: Summer By vicki adams 06/22/06 |
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I’m reaching out.
Finding Who I am nestled
In security.
Perhaps a testament to perseverance or
Restraint and yet
I’m spinning cartwheels on a hill.
Fluidity becomes me.
And sonnets trickle unabated
Through seasons ebb and flow
A vast pool of vocabulary
I’m plunging deep.
Create in me a pure heart
As I create precious sentences
That fail to encapsulate my wonder.
Staring bright eyed into
Night sky.
Morning and noon
He waits for me
And we meander in the sunlight
New expressions
First breaths
Breadths widths and heights
Grasped now.
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