I can knot myself into a kaleidoscope.
Pull in every shade of my being
till I flicker out of sight,
be whole in my absence.
Still, a Muse will find my reflection
in the ripples on a lake,
a shivering blade of grass,
half a note of birdsong.
Some such poetic nonsense
always betrays me.
Reveals the stress fractures
scattering from my joints,
the places you will press into me
to dig out meanings.
To understand me you must dismantle
all the elements within these limbs
then jigsaw them into your own creation.
Redefine all the colours in the prism,
and leave none to belong to me.
Carol J Forrester 
Beautifully written Carol.
As always. 💜🦋
I sometimes wonder it there are those colors that we cannot really name… do they exist without having a name.
Finding a reflection in “half a note of birdsong”. That is beautiful.
This was wonderfully intriguing Carol. 🙂
Thank you.
Wow, well done!!
Thank you