Light-footed, light dances on water;
light-fingered, it steals from Picassos and decor
whatever is less than light fast. And we,
at its light shows of sun rise and set
are lifted light-hearted or - truth be known -
light-drunk or light-headed again.
And lightsome it is, this lighter-than-air light
pen from heaven, presenting our world - light
pollution the downside; reflections of glory the up.
Yet lightweight our words at its wonders,
and lighter than lightweight there at the end
as we wait for its final "lights out"!
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...