Trying to tread air with
stone wings,
heaven appears ever smaller
(at least Icarus touched
Paradise once!)
I dare to spin security
from gauzy imaginings--
the stuff of angel dreams,
domain of the blessed.
In a glittering mind-waltz
sculpted from a long green day,
somewhere I flew.
But then awoke,
the cloudscape far above.
Stalking joy through reeds
of doubt,
I glimpsed it,
like the blur of a
frightened fawn.
Weightless as breath,
a glint on the black woolen
cloak of care
Truth spoke:
The crocus blooms in snow.
Ice turns kale to royal hues.
In forests, shadows crawling on
the tattered ground
make struggling drops of light
more sublime.
Someday stone will turn to light
and I'll laugh across infinity.
Patricia Joan Jones
To read more of my work go to: My Poetry List