Chatterers fly overhead
calling others to turn their eyes
upward to see their sky dances.
They promise, with no certainty.
These babblers search me with puzzled crests,
casually analyzing for entertainment.
Evading their curiosity,
I imagine a clever few
who sit upon flower boxes
with their backs to the crowd.
They notice me disappearing
from the multitude.
Flowers in their hands,
they pace impressions before approaching
the silent screamer.
Then we fade away in secrets.
2 comments:
Oooh, nicely vague and esoteric.
I think this is about kindred spirits apart from the noisy, self-proclaiming crowd? Lovely and delicate work, Carol.
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