Interval
Pastel skies
And pairs of birds
The Sun appears sometimes,
Soft like ballerina steps -
Previews of the scenes to come.
But the cold still lingers
Fingers are curled into cardigan sleeves.
The interval isn't over
Yet.
Copyright LJ 2021.
Lioness, outside The Garden
Lioness, outside The Garden Not all is lost - my lion walks loyal beside us. She was where I lay my head under the low stars, in the uncomplicated, verdant heart of living; where ground-wings opened to pink and perfume ever-present. He called her Ariel. I call her Ari. She carries the star-thrum energy of earth newly created; all fire eyes and focus, yellow allegiance, claws on instinct. Whereas I - I can't stop thinking. I leave our tent; bark and stem like praying hands and rest on her sand-coloured fur - She is still the same; four-legged land of the horizon, muscles of vine and forehead of moss, a head that moves like water around a river bend - a moving, prowling garden. No, not all is lost. LJ Ireton, 2024
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