festival

Festival

by tlhopkinson

Streak the sky like feathers

dipped in paint, keeping time with measure

and stippling the rhythm from bones

bending at the wrist and elbow.

A heated smoke conjures lift,

pressing up against the book ends

of dawn, and with a cooling tailspin

breaks into the aching scars of art—

carbon-copied depictions, reeking of sketches

and etchings, splattered sculptures

and watercolor washes of renderings

until unearthed as jewels

and bobbles and beads waiting to be

plucked and pieced into treetops.

 

read in forum

0 replies

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply