The fragrance of freshly washed alone is enough
to the sway the senses,
it’s an edge between nothingness and
everything, as the sun
and the wind on the roof spread their limbs—
gather up the scattered pieces of me
there is always comfort, waiting, right after the chaos.
Soak your fears in detergent;
be gentle today, for the world requires that of us
at the moment,
it’s uncanny, the more I put on the clothes line
the more content I feel on the inside,
my soul sings along with the birds,
listens to the tiniest of sounds and takes note
to pour them
into poetry; I could really use it right now.
Barefoot, I follow the words that float about;
write of cobalt skies
and cherry tomato hope that beckons from afar,
compassion is something
I admire the most, apart from darker irises
that wake hungrier for dreams and other realities.
I could read languid breath, arrange thoughts
and pull sensuality deep from the core;
he has the ability to catch feeling from corner of fuller lips
despite the silence,
despite the darkness fueled by recent events–
perhaps, ours will be the story passed down from generation
for now, let us return and pick the dried clothes
from the line.
Photo credits: John Sloan, “Sun and wind on the roof,” Wikimedia Commons
Merril hosts at dVerse and invites us to come try our hand at Ekphrastic Poetry.
Come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics: March Wind Ekphrastic @dVerse Poets Pub