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"beneath my palm"
"beneath my palm"
Morning lake
pale light slides along the water,
loons calling from the reed‑shadows.
Bare feet in the grass,
dew gathers at my ankles,
a hawk wheels over fields greening at the edges.
Camp‑smoke drifting through pine,
bees thicken in the honeysuckle,
a single door slams far off.
Maples lift into breeze,
leaf‑shadows shifting across my hands,
I take it into me without hurry.
Fence line pools with moonlight,
crickets split the dark,
the earth holds the day’s warmth beneath my palm.
.
.
Some pieces feel like sitting
Some pieces feel like sitting down with an old friend; unhurried, familiar, and quietly full of wonder. This one is perhaps soft edges and clear moments, the kind you tuck away to remember on a long afternoon. We don’t need to rush; just settle in and let it unfold at its own easy pace.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver