Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Going Home.

Blackness fills my view,
swirling across the roadway
like a water spout on the ocean.
Press on.

I am untouched
but for a place deep inside me,
that fills with awe and wonder.
I am changed.

The liquid black fades away,
smearing through the blue
like ink trailing from a nib.
Fly.

The grackles are going home.

written by Karin Smith, Dec.3, 2008

3 comments:

windycorner said...

They're on their way to a Florida winter. Millions of them spend the holidays right in my neighborhood.
Love your verse!
Holley

Betty said...

"...like ink trailing from a nib..." - what a wonderful phrase. I really enjoyed your offering!

Fete et Fleur said...

Beautiful! Your poetry touches my heart.

Nancy