flocks
of soap bubbles
emanate
from my children's breath
sailing
on updraft
and downdraft
some an inch across,
some five
they touch down
on the damp lawn
and do not burst
or they coast
through rain sprinkles
to the street
a few float
down to the ground
and then
zip up
in a smooth curve
dark curved shadows,
green yellow orange,
shift
in the bubbles' depths
some are edged
with bright violet,
others reflect,
light & dark,
the double curve
of our fear & hope
they weigh
little less than the air,
they hover,
float, coast, drift,
drop, zip
with slight gusts
& temperature changes,
each a nomad,
on the invisible contours
of the breeze
selah
Eugene Warren was poetry editor for Christianity and Literature and a correspondent for Sojourners when this article appeared. He taught literature at the University of Missouri-Rolla.
Read the Full Article
