Rest in a New Past

In a tree
highest branches
leaning over lower
to make a wind break
and allow a refugee to rest.

In a hand
holding out
life line long as
pauses reminding
the palm of its part in
a lullaby to a sleepy resister.

In the shape
of a ripe pear
and in its colorful
message of readiness
weight thinks of growing
blossoms again and then falls.

In a bell
clapper at rest
brass outside duller
than invisible rounds
polished by old resonances.

In an hour
sounding like
happiness carved
in wax and then cast
in silver smoke and space
give way leaving a new past.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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