Waking

Odilon Redon, Ophelia Among the Flowers

Waking

The garden was her sanctuary,
but nights were lonely,
and winters wild with longing
of seeds holding secrets tight
beneath frosted stone.

She asked if the magic
had slipped from her life,
she asked if she had let it,
unnoticed the warm embrace
of sun on rock surface,

the dazzle-light on river and
poetry flowing to eternity.
Less black, she says,
paints caramel, green, blue,
onto her heart’s haunted canvas,

adds clouds that dance and play
with the ghosts, sending them
out of range, a blur on the horizon.

It’s Saturday! My poem from the Oracle.

15 thoughts on “Waking

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