In a trickle of pure morning air
I sit watching. Seeing,
believing.

-

In the vivid coal-color
of a glossy crow, flapping
in the clear air,
landing in a tree's sprung verdure,
black, blue, green…

-

In the hearty laugh
of a fellowman, friend
who too knows the secrets
of making music, and floating on it…

-

In the bright light
gleaming on the edges
of the girls' hair,
full of youthful hue and life…

-

In the sheen of affection
in the eyes of an old friend,
relaying sad news
of the other half's passage hence,
into the murmuring sea
on the edge of dear life…

-

In a trickle of pure morning air
I sit watching. Seeing,
believing -
there's a poem resting,
awaiting words.
Holding my pen, weighed down
with the liberating burden
that's tethered to the two wings
of my open notebook…

I'll fly away in a moment.