At one time
Stories
The clinging
Painful, defining
So real,
Then
A letting go
A painful memory
Now ignored
Their beauty shunned
Denied
Cowed from
Their lightness mistaken
For lead.
Being made ready
The master gathers them all
Laying them out so carefully
Given to your hand
So lovingly
You hold each one up to the light
Their plumes bathed in
Brilliance
The exact length
The exact spot,
Unerring placement
Supreme craftsmanship
One supporting the other
Being made ready
Your hand smoothes them down the shaft
And you
“Know”
Right where this one must go
To create the lift
To create the thrust
No more wishing
To be able to dance
On currents
Soar through ethers
Among the stars
‘tween electrons
Into the heart
—Paul Reynolds
