The trail home

by Fliss

He’s running two hours late, but I don’t mind.
I’m thankful that he’s on his merry way
with all those tools he reckoned he could find
in cupboards, mostly; tack-nails from his tray.

‘Hullo!’ That old announcement, with a grin,
a hearty wave across my office space.
He’s been outdoors a lot, it seems: his skin
is tanned and slightly freckled on his face.

The cut-off time for noisy work is 6.
It’s 5 already, so we set about
defining themes and patterns, where to fix
the default height, how best to set it out.

Decisions made, he works along the hall
until the forest sculpture trail is laid:
the massive cone, the peeping fish, and all
the wiry fallow deer in summer glade.

The photos gleam in mainly brown and green,
enticing me, recovering, to roam
through all those woods, from sculpted scene to scene
while feeling grateful that I’m here, I’m home.


Mohamed Sarfan's picture
Dear Poeter, Life, which appears like a rainbow in human thoughts, actually seems colorless to many. The mind builds the path house like the canal water fishes in the path of dreams. Write more Congratulations

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Fliss's picture
Dear Mohamed, What a lovely comment! Thank you very much for taking the time. I think, as poets, we are blessed in having the rainbow of life in our thoughts; and in being able to build images into the path of dreams, as you say. Best wishes, Fliss

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