There isn’t an end
and there isn’t a beginning, either
we’re just there
hanging in an eclipse between the ether
and that supposed solidness, or
maybe neither is there - or its
an expression of what we agree
we couldn’t be without,
like a turned-up end of the wing
terminates untrammelled imagination
but we float easily
with the secure vigour of a buoyancy
seating us comfortably - we’ll
be there soon is the message, as
pressures reclaim our dreaming space
© 15 April 2017, I. D. Carswell
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