GLIDE across the floor
BLUSH pink silk rustles and swirls
Gentlemen queue, hearts beating
Crystal beads dangle from ceiling
Like dozens of sparkling PLUMB lines

Georg’ann

I would not TRADE my life
for any other. Like sandstone
hills, etched and pocked,
into exquisite beauty. A sense
of history, wide expanses
of something solid. Recesses
grand, and tiny too, carved
to give shelter.
Waters move through.
Fall and pool. Small swirls.
Sometimes terror here,
more often wonder.
LUCKY for it all.
Roots and rocks rise,
covered in PLUSH moss.
Shaped by the elements,
nothing hangs PLUMB.

Heather