For Paula

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On a wave of wind
A soul floats
East then west, back again
In no hurry she ambles
Like a silver moth or
Crimson canary
Slow and care free toward
Her very own meadow.

And unafraid
Bright winter branches stretch
Tomorrow’s fresh canvas
Over the ideas once vibrant
Which expired today.

She is like the feather
On the water’s surface
Being carried by the river
To what needs not
Any explanation.

 - March 2016 -