The blank page unfurls its wings—
transformed into a falcon,
swift, instinctive, famished.
*
I mount its back—we rise
into an open sky.
We soar, we circle, we fly.
*
Fiery eyes scanning
the underbrush for fat words
throbbing with life.
*
A flash of diamond syllables,
a verbal heavy with valence,.
the falcon circles, deliberate as hunger.
*
The bird folds its wings and plunges.
The wind roars as we descend,
talons extended to seize—
*
each word trembling with its truth,
every syllable ripe for capture, for
the prism of the poem.
*
The falcon dissolves back to paper,
relaxes its claws, releases
its words—raw, swollen, ready.
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.