I breathe in light

a dappled morn

the path, my feet

its free,

To mull the raise

a leap beyond

the snap, the cold

its breeze.

 I wander close

a tread before

the goal, the mark

its clear,

To think on nought

a force in step

the scope, the view

its here.

The great reveal

a gasp of height

the longing toast

its shine,

And then at end

a pause is held

the note, the word

is told.


Paula Antonello Moore, Prose. Copyright: Thursday, April 5, 2018.

Image: Dappled Morn by P.A. Moore.