all that remains in the wind

I

I am pulled at
Against
Like threads on
And unfinished piece of fabric
Loose and flowing
In the wild winter winds
Torn along the grounding line
Then flying, flying
Only to be caught once more
In naked branches
One by one those pieces fall
And fly on their own path
Away, away, away…
To be picked up elsewhere
By unknown hands
That part of me undone
Let go, unwoven, unraveled
Reclaimed then absorbed
As history does with time passing
Shredded flag now left waiting for the
Morning sun to rise and warm
The last remnants

II

Questions rise up in me
Like bubbles
in a glass bowl of water
I press my hands outward
to the edges
The smooth gentle curve
Beneath my fingertips
Watching out the glass walls
In the circle
I find no breath to guide me
To the surface, to the truth
To the wider space above
And make no move to be carried upward
Waiting instead for the ocean
To be released in its own time

III

When the valley is leveled to reach the mountains
my heart will soar with the clouds
my soul will reach down through the depths
Like the roots of a great tree
And all that remains will lay out like an emerald meadow
Filled wildflowers under the shining sun
~

25.02.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson

Published by Leigh-Anne Fraser

writer, poet, photographer, artist, illustrator, knitter,friend and fine pancake flipper

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