London Poem: Day 166

30 January

Where does the wild go?
Bending surely out of sight,
Away from hands that reach
Out to know it’s there –
Forced to have faith in
What lays unseen,
To recall the taste though
It is swept away from sight.
I want to reach out,
And feel it, to let it
Swim in my open hands
Because only then will I
Know it is still there.
However, I’m forced to trust
What I cannot feel, to know
It lives where I cannot
See, but how I wish
The wild would wait and spend
Some time with me.

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In flux

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