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

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

as epiphany
he juggled colours
in the air

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

lines of light
in a garden of colour

he swallowed one

the rest in the air


he swallowed one

the rest

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

© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #205: pursuit

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