Through the glass
faint shapes
hover in the last bit of wind
shapeless and formless
the lines converge
like a funnel cloud
from mullions
to Mondrian
and the details
noted neatly
in practiced motion
methodically assessing
what can not be quantified
hanging on to the last bit of reality
above and beyond
B I R D
Poem Copyright
©2007, Frederick Douglass Perry, All rights reserved
Blogged @ NEW-vizshun
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