Conversations #3

The conversational currents
are fluid boundaries,
timelines or compass roads
demarked imperceptibly
like body heat in the crosswinds
of scrutiny, unvoiced queries,
the siren calls of social animals
coursing their habitats,
warm inquiring updrafts
can give way to chilled squalls
in a thought’s instance
wings ache in the sudden stress
of remaining aloft and upright
plumage furls, wings flex
instinctively keeping their grip
in the slipstream, a struggle
the eyes try never to tell.

I have given thought flight
in the night sky,
that evening the road 
slipped around our periphery,
gliding our way
like dancers, unaware of
the music that bonds them, 
words in darkness 
a necklace of black pearls,
midnight-blue strands 
shed like a gown
on the ballroom floor.

Seeking her home
in the breeze of warm conversation,
her words enfold wingspans, 
the tip of her tongue 
curled like small recollections’
occasional smile,
her habitat of 
instinctive dance with
gravity’s situations, 
choreographed well.
She claims it her birthright, heady, 
like the rush of blood in quick dives’ spirals
leaving bright blue laughter 
deepening to somber browns,
the gravity of our element
that has held us since our first crawl,
and in the fleeting current of words
lingers    the beating of wings. 

© Jonathan Bohrn (2005)

Seagull over Seattle
photograph © 2000 Jason Waltman


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