carnevale

Poem #204 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


dressed
as epiphany
he juggled colours
in the air

across
between
under and over
they wove
like ribbons of light
into figures of eight
and into bows
and once
into his name

a fuse alight

they descended
to be caught
and then thrown aloft
up into the air
again

lines of light
in a garden of colour

then
he swallowed one

the rest in the air

up

he swallowed one

the rest

one at a time
until
the darkness of sleep
swallowed him
in turn
and his entire
carnevale


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #205: pursuit

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