
The ancient light, an echo of a thousand whens,
a beacon to the ship, blown off course in shadowed seas, while
somewhere, a fiddle sings, in notes
that soar with if
under clouds, above mountains, crossing rivers,
carrying dreams of blue ponies and verdant lands,
carrying moon-whispered secrets
that you almost remember
when you wake to taste the peach-burst sun
on your tongue and hear the universe’s wild poetry
in wind and waves–and its laughter in birdsong.
My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. Looking at the image I chose after I wrote the poem (but thinking of the blue horses), and now seeing the lion in it, reminds me that a month or so ago, I had a dream of a house and a lion who came and cuddled with me. (We also re-watched Fiddler on the Roof this week.) The Oracle really does know everything. 😀
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