• Tricia D. Wagner

Nights on Spice Island #1.4

Updated: Sep 11

Bright eyes open, I see strife,

feel pain from winds of words,

learn meanness and thinness from time,

watch the woods flourish,

know in my marrow, this moment.

The gift is to be still.

The trick is to not mind death.

The current of winds and waters roll on -

currents carrying words and deluge debris,

streams and whispers, hints from days gone.

Sunlight, moonlight, starlight reaching, bathing.

The secret lies in sensing one presence,

like a great raptor alighting in a high rook

and folding his wings.

Stirring winds brush my cheek.

Winds that touch everything.


© 2015 by Tricia D. Wagner. Proudly created with Wix.com

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now