How I Felt Your Migration

This is a reply to a gift, a word for an ear, a song.

How I Felt Your Migration

 

I often wonder if it's but a dream painted on the back of a dragonfly I saw in a postcard tacked on a wall of someone else's life. Then the moon replenishes and the darkness begins to fade and I am holding crystal wings on the edge of my nose once again. Words, colorful words, meaningful words cut from my heart and fall like diamonds upon the page once again, shining and marvelous. The righted ship with uneven ballast free until the next wave overtakes it. And still...I can only type the words and fall upon your graces and the graces of others.

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

This was beautiful... Such haunting words, and so emotionally charged. This reminds me of a love poem written a hundred years ago on a piece of brittle parchment, messengered to the house of your lady love.

And still...I can only type the words -- that's all that we can do, isn't it? Keep typing them, because they are beautiful.

[Astro]

How can I resist the torture of the muse, if she enables me to be the writer I've always wanted to be. Thanks for such a wonderful compliment.