He ran possessed
by the upturned faces
of flowers blooming
uncomplaining of grey skies
needing no reason to be beautiful
He ran possessed
by the fog cascading
down the hillsides
leaving dewdrops on his hackles
silencing everything but
his breath
He ran possessed
My mom never writes poems about me!You lucky dog!
ReplyDeletegood catch of the moment in the momentum. you are talented, in many things, alright, pal.
ReplyDelete