Francis Santaquilani


blaze


swift

and in the sun,

the greenest grass

under your bare feet,

bursting

a frame of shiney and fat

magnolia leaves,

white blossoms explode

as you blow by,

hair buffeted

like the kites and

feathery clouds overhead,

freckles shed as you fly,

everything a surprise

and in the sun.

a blur to everyone else,

slow motion to me.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Edited: Friday, November 04, 2005
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