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The thought electric wings across the shallows,
Wheeling like a cry from friend to friend.
Each virtual lover feels so well connected,
Neither needed, nor apt to be neglected,
That intimacies swiftly dart and blend,
Yet separate unerringly as swallows.
Soon will our dreams emerge from eaves and hollows,
Entering one dreamer without end:
Visions into messages, reflected
Each by instant each, as each thought follows
Nothing that we now can comprehend.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
