By Jaya Avendel | Featured Contributor
Sword of color crafted to
Stab out our eyes.
No focal point
Only intentional slashes and swirls.
Birds see too much and so
Become experts at seeing what matters.
How pretty the plastic flowers are in
Tribute to single graves.
I prefer the dead poppies in the field one glance away
Love dwelt there.
Sunlight twinkles off drops of red wine
In the moonlight the drops become whole and form a swallow.
How precious a glimpse through the mist at a
City street bursting at its slender seams with graffiti.
Caricature of a crow painted in the shadow of a streetlamp
Seventeen hundred careful brushstrokes just for you.
Some of us glide alone in company and
Learn to soar on ostentatious wings.
Some of us fall together in solitude
We learn to fly on nothing.
You pass over the nothing
I intend to collect and turn into something.
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