The Roller

by Renwick Berchild

She is color, speed, and song.
Her appearance, an oasis
Of the eye.
A wunderkind, a rapture,
Were she mineral
She be as wulfenite.
A caress of spring flowering and
Young life, beauteous and beguiling.

I love her. She is
Glorious, making moons with her wings.
Making glimmer
In pale, descending rays. Shine and
Music, lap her sides;
A ship, she glides as gossamer,
Lithe and heaven bound.

If I could catch
Just a hint of her shadow, making
Limber the ground she shunts,
I would stumble into her breast of thin gems,
And live among the sward of her,
Fall asleep
To her humming heart.

Prussian blue, she drifts
In green and
Yellow tart. I imagine her
Happy; wilderness in flight I see her
Making fast across the savanna

—Naught a flute about her,
She is a single string.
To be


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