Friday, 25 January 2019

Letting it Go

by Darlene Cleary

I stare at paintings of sky now. Not
that I want to fly, or ever did.
The deepening of color, from faint
blue, to one like a sea, almost,
where leaning over the gunwale
of a small craft out from shore
ten miles or more, depth becomes
obscure. And so I am taken in…

I stare at paintings of the sea as well,
and cast myself among the swells
that rise and slap and drop. Turning,
turning to find myself within this
immensity: a rock, a spit of land,
but there is none, nothing, no place
to swim, and so I tilt my frame to float
and stare once more at sky. So this
is where I’ll stay, and I
and drifting violet clouds will
watch it all go by.

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