I hold,

hold them

until
I’m ready

to turn

them loose,
those bubbles

that skim
over the hillsides

of my mind
where we travel,

you and I.
I hold,

hold them
until they’re

sighed away,
like sparks

dancing
out of the fire,
my bubbles

softly blown.
They’re seagulls,

wild
and they fly

to those places

where, you and I,
we close

our eyes.

And I hold,

hold them

until
they turn

me loose
on the hillsides

of your mind,
those bubbles

in the dark
wild like sparks

caught
in the wind

on which we travel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_____________

Photo: Doreen Dee