Weaving Gold

Mokosha, Anastasia Sophia, and Me, Natalia . . . while the books are written

Elusive Dream

Cars. Lawnmowers. Jets.
Unmelodic, disharmonious machines
disrupt my poem.
Persistent, distressing noises
destroy my peace.

If I listen with my eyes,
immerse myself in still waters,
equilibrium is restored,
For a moment,
desire to drown.

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World Between the Worlds

In the calm after the storm
a window to heaven opens.
Like Polly and Digory,
Jump!

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Peace-Seekers’ Benediction

The calm before the storm titillates,
tantilizes with its foreboding foretelling.

Sooner or later,
eletric bolts and gods’ chest-thumping
chase creatues into lairs, or snares,
to wait out the purge.

Venture out
with slowness, in silence.

Cleansed leaves glisten.
Sweet scents delight.
Birdsong resumes
in the calm after the storm. 

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