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by Janet Granger
I savor the rare moments of
the silent voices,
the wind flipping through leaves
which flash fluorescent green
as the sun finds them
and pours itself through.
The bright new spring day
lifts my eyes to
dancing on my ceiling,
shimmering on my walls.
The moment floats on its own air,
like the small telltale on the rigging,
flapping merrily with the breeze.
© Copyright 1997, 2019, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 08/12/1997