Lingering

I catch the very edge of time here
reticulation of an instance catching
the dew with knowing there’s so
much more to come on reflection
as minuets seep in the notion that
I was so much younger then before
like thoughts gathered in the tonal life
of sound, an illumination like photogravure,
an imprint of our own orenda, a lingering
of the soul’s restless instance drenched
in morning gold, where the sun’s blanket
of light, like a guest of these hills, surrounds
our love so complete, so infinitely calm
that I have fallen into the chasm of this
place fully embraced, into the natural flight
of a soft breeze on the notes of its song,
and the motion of summer’s tallest grass

 

© K. James Ribble

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