and the hills
form waves
upon my head
white birds
on the green
unsettled
as I progress from step
to step
rise into the air
wheel around
then
land again
fog valleys
are a clearing for my thoughts
sharpened instantly
by the blossoming of wattle trees
the golden
and the white
I walk
a peregrination
undertaken while I breathe
life
as light as air
ah
I would the willow
drape its young
new leaves
for my hair
to fall in plaited rows
like dreadlocks
knotted
tender green
a stride
another stride
I stroll
between the last brown
cries left behind
by Autumn
and the new call
the bursting light
of Spring
between
what was
and what will
surely
be
then there
the blue
breaking in
breaking through
milling clouds
ragged
thick
descended as a blanket
so very low
and yet
there
again
is the blue
kiss of warmth
upon my brow
to ease the burden
of carriage
© Frank Prem, 2017
September 2017 Poem #09: one silent hour
