Nothing stays as it is for long. The sky changes, shadows lengthen, and light shifts across water. What seems lasting is often in motion, changing in ways that are easy to miss until they are gone.
Clouds drift, reflections fade, and the day gradually yields to evening. What remains are traces: fragments of light, passing impressions, and beauty that cannot be held.
Poets Walk
By Kerry A. Wiley
Blue skies
over blue water,
clouds write letters
no one can hold.
Summer arrives
in ribbons of gold.
Blue skies,
over blue water.
Lavender bends in the wind,
and words float,
unspoken.
A gate stands open
where no fence remains.
The path descends
through pockets of shade,
keeping
what the sun passed over.
The lake gathers
what the day forgets,
fragments of cloud,
small disturbances of light,
a voice carried halfway
across the water.
Nothing arrives intact.
Even the light
seems borrowed.
Lavender bends again,
releasing its scent
as the light thins.
Blue skies,
over blue water.
The clouds have changed places.
The letters they were writing
remain unfinished.
A small wind moves through.
By evening,
the water holds
the last of the light.
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