The rocks were caught by child’s eye,
and changed with the sunset
into horns and antennae,
goring and grinding, and going off.
Bumped into the night.
Flamingos frolic in the surfless still of the sea
side morning’s pastoral. Limbs and feathers
paint a fantastical fan, this stretching before the sun.
The water dopples,
dolloped with pink reflections. A mirror
ed magic, reflexive of another dimension. Alien
in pastel tones of aggressive softness, they
adamantly defend their rights
to this dance.
Photo by LonghornDave via Wikimedia Commons Images.
The lavender sky turns. Soundless.
Its silvered breath falls,
sliding slowly over veined silk.
The tiny bud ruptures. Bending
backwards (in time) it beads
the ground with miniscule reflections,
iridescent images bursting the same ideal:
a perfect mirror of every dawn’s bloom.
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. She has previously published six collections of poetry all available on Amazon.com. She has also published her work in numerous national and international literary journals. Most recently, she has accepted the position as editor for four online poetry journals published by Kind of a Hurricane Press. You can read more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work. Huffman has published with WIZ previously.
Photo by Audrey of Central Pennsylvania via Wikimedia Commons.