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