SkywritersA Poem by Molly Cara
A little turtle pauses on the path, still as stone. He’s made it half way to the grass.
A sunflower arches like a branch, back-bends over the grass, and waits for the turtle to scuttle… just a few more inches. The sky looks like a tombstone. Apollo, why so slow to draw the sun across the sky like a hand on a paintbrush shedding red across a canvas? How long must I wait for dawn? Have your horses run away, and are they running still, through the gray that looks like marble? And do they etch their footprints all across the rainscape? © 2013 Molly Cara |
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Added on September 14, 2013 Last Updated on September 14, 2013 Author
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