Early Evening, July
The hay just mown,
birds fly low,
wings holding light
like fingers round
a great candle.
Field just shorn,
insects shown,
wings alight
like wax ringing
a bright candle.
Days new mown,
summer shorn,
gold ring circling
to down-faced
palm.
Lord, have mercy
as time feeds on,
wax eaten
by a held candle;
new mown hay,
wing-blown day,
gold ring
glimmering–
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A draft poem for no prompt. I’m calling it a draft since I’ve done about a zillion versions in the last day and am by no means sure this is the best, even adding things I probably shouldn’t as I post. But I’m a bit anxious to move away from it for now. I wish all a happy weekend. (The pic above is mine; as with the poem, all rights reserved.)
I am linking this to Real Toads open platform.
ManicDDaily 
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