Like the soft linen
of newly-formed clouds,
when I arrange words on a page,
I'm not always sure of the source.
I let them find each other,
and gather into tentative groups,
like the temporary lives
of mountain wildflowers.
Perhaps my words will pulsate
with warmth inside your heart
like the brief glow of evening
on a slow moving river.
Or, maybe fresh new words
will surprise the writer;
words hidden just beyond
the next bend in the road.
Or, the words could identify with
the feeling of acute awareness
that you notice when the wind
temporarily stops.
© 2022 Richard Havenga
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