Tuesday, June 19, 2018

a random revelation

flashes along the strand

from a small dead branch of the Monterey Pine,
signals shoot out toward the sky,
like tracer bullets in an old war movie:
bright flashes that race upwards as if to point,

it seems a spider spun a strand
that the wind now keeps taut,
and the bright afternoon sun catches it, undulating,

such a random revelation,
but it centers my world for a time.

by Henry H. Walker
June 17, ‘18

No comments: