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Sunday, September 11, 2011

“Wistful Reverie on an Afternoon”

A breeze whispers through the
Trees.  I think I’d like to
Fly away. Surely tree-top
Conversations are much more
Pleasant than anything to be
Had in a fancy restaurant
Full of towel-armed waiters?

Ripples lap at the shore line, stealing
Pebbles. I think I’d rather grow
Gills and dive, deep down to a
Place where words don’t
Exist so we’d just shake fins and smile.

                          poetic bloomings- prompt #20

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