Flowers 2

By Stephen Linsteadt

A white crane lifts against a grey
sky like hope
between thoughts and borrowed lines
between the crop circles appearing in my unharvested mind.

She calls consciousness and soul into one
where sea and sand disappear
between low hanging clouds.

I look away and fragments of time dip into eternity
between chaos and faith
between rocket launchers and hungry children
between what could have been and what may be.

A white crane lifts against a grey sky.

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