Monday, 7 October 2013

Yet to Be

The joy of the afternoon,

had left a sweet ache
of something-in-the-air:
amorphous as mist that, probably,
wasn’t there, at all –

for anyone but me.

Held, 

breathless, lest, 
surrender to what was reality:  
might flick the phantasmagoric
whiff of chance away –

from what was yet to be.

notes:   I do remember that feeling - and smile still, at the thought of it.

Chance:  The unknown and unpredictable element in happenings that seems to have no discernable cause.

photo:  Tossing the Ball at Deer Lake – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

4 comments:

  1. So self-reflective, that elusive something-in-the-air delicately captured here. That's good you wrote this, "lest, surrender to what was reality."

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  2. "amorphous as mist that, probably,
    wasn’t there, at all –

    for anyone but me." so cool that you wrote of this, those nearly surreal moments, so hard to put down. I like how this piece just lingers in the air--perfectly done to suit this experience!

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  3. Yes, those surreal moments do linger. Smiles.

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