Puffs of cumulous on blue,
naked sycamore ballet, backdrop
of granite rock on tender green—

January after a month of rain,
muddy froth upon the creek
greet me like an old friend.

We pick up where we left off
as if drought never happened,
each afloat in one another’s eyes

applauding our survival—and
the genius of persevering seed
clinging through the years of dust

without rain—our moment now
just to look, inhale the scent
of breath and flesh, alive again.


8 responses to “ALIVE AGAIN

  1. Stunning imagery. I love it!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. John, I can feel the hope and happiness in this verse.


    Liked by 1 person

  3. That sycamore is beautiful John, so is your poem. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. John, it’s starting to look like Ireland! Cheers. See you in a week if this pending snowstorm on the east coast allows. Your daily observations are an ever-bracing dose of what is really important. I say that as an unrepentant beef eater.

    Liked by 1 person

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