A glance came first
as chance reversed
and a flight came dancing through.
The swifts that fly,
cries pierce the sky,
as summer’s storms withdrew.
A dash of sickles, turning
and chasing life’s desire.
A new light now is burning -
a watcher’s hidden fire.
And as the host races by,
just chancing with the air,
I watch and say, if only
I could do more than stare.
AW,