Moss rock, creation’s paint pony, I long to ride your slippery saddle,
tugging toeholds of mint, watching sun-glint vapors dance on icy flow,
hands outstretched to grab the air as I fall, to right myself once and for all
before my once-proud form fails to last the eight-second ballet.
2 comments:
Nice imagery! Just one question...Did someone take a tumble on the ice today, Bob?
Uh... if I say yes, does it mean that I don't have a lick of imagination?
Actually, I didn't, but the thought of it is what made me recall walking in Colorado streams when I was much younger.
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