thrill of the chase
…crouched behind the long-dried tree stump, as I pass
side-look - as if shush finger placed to her lips before my question even forms -
and choosing not to catch my eye…
while hers brim bright, alive -
search past well-known crinkle lines
of lived-in corners and curious knot knowings -
to scan intently
picking up a sun’s low rays ‘cross water liquid ripples
while red wellies tell of smoothing polymer fun
aside gnarled waning worn-wood hidings
…and passing on I hear – can’t see - young boys’ voices
behind…to the side,
ripe and likewise alert
sharing joy and
launching bright-grin sing-song queries
appealing waves into a boundless frost-free air
“grandma?”
which is eternal…
..and that beyond dwells in our here
brim mirrored worlds o’er lucent tear -
crowd ‘round, so peer with curious ear
curved strange refractions yet to hear -
grasp wisped meniscus flouting fear –
so close surround, yet never near
still seek to know that sense held dear
Limerick
There was a young woman’s sun glasses
Which mirrored back all that she passes
Though her lips curve in smile
Unseen bile skims her eyes
While her heart stalls in thick black molasses.
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