As poet’s, writers and the all encompassing “curious” art finds us, it is all around, in the present, the moment, the universe at large. After some consideration, I have put this “something” down.
- miller
Sunlight Weaving
So many books have spawned
tiny little legs
and crept
into my room
So many thoughts entangled
tightly bound
wrapped up in
cloaked by
“poetic criticism
I have crept away
from them
To put something down
To put something down
trying to weave
but now outdoors
the sun has cast
a million prism rays
upon the tightrope from
post to wicker chair
no thicker than a hair
the floss sways fawns
is a poem a strand? loomed
by hand?
sunlight weaving words
world melts and fuses the poetic mind and its forms
the spider remains hidden
the wind will sear ambitions
the spider will start again.
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