frosted glass, colorful, image by bluebudgie, on Pixabay
Heavenly hour, sisters
She walks around, head down, eyes set to dust,
sand is red around. She is her usual she, she is
and even before—on streets, beach, heaven,
a haven. Call her timid, call her haughty,
a rain-ness she will not place herself, cannot
haste from. Can she?
Call her explorer, half-true, but when her heart,
so she, right down the desert, dirt under nails.
She walks where glimmers and gleams, beams, sees the blaze
in stellar spectacles, sees His nature's expo airing the night away
today, in the heavenly hour. Eyes set on the star vault,
her sisters to feel safe. She is her new she, she is.
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Kate Copeland started absorbing stories ever since a little lass.
Her love for words led her to teaching and translating some dear languages; her love for art and writing led her to poetry...with some publications sealed already! She was born in Rotterdam some 51 years ago and adores house sitting in Spain at the moment.
August 2021 issue