Light!

It's naive to believe in the groundness of things.
My eyes are half-closed, shielded agalnst glare.
it's a balance: a seesaw fulcrum, my feet paddle
empty air. I'd like to begin: Oh Yes: let's begin.
.
The french pour les pensées singulièrement privés
set down in sin. "My love, my love,
Come straight to me." for the ovalata
sings it's charm, a symphony.
.
An intense light: this smelt of souls,
each of us tied to our own little worlds.
The concert rolls on: the applause is loud.
The sun melts our icarus wings to a knob
of swift sealing wax.

(c) Rosalind J. Lee

*pour les pensées singulièrement privés - for thoughts peculiarly private.