|© Karin Gustafson|
Too many nights now, I have curled
into myself like a somnolent sea creature
with a thick, creamy shell – an inward spiralling
that bears little resemblance to flight.
I have not sought out the stars
from my ocean bed, nor paid attention
to phases of the moon – a willingness to sink
into the confines of my own dark harbour.
But you will not consign me to the tide.
You sing me awake in lost hours, set me loose
from my anchor chains – a lifting free of self
to fly toward dawn on jet black wings.
Karin Gustafson is hosting Flight of Write in The Imaginary Garden and has kindly shared her art to accompany our words.