[NicknamedBob]

I’ve discovered it’s more difficult to describe an active image. That one was really complicated.

It was a concept that had haunted me a bit. I wasn’t sure how to compress it into the warp and woof of a poem.

I started, of course, with the first line.

[Soaring Feather]

Our soul doesn’t enter when we do,
From birth canals we call alive,
It falls, while we think we’re rising,
At the end of the trip it arrives.


And that’s when the puppet stops moving,
Having joined with its shadow below,
The delicate dance of descending,
Has made for a marvelous show.


I especially love these last 2 stanzas. However, the entire poem is filed with such lovely images, suspended in space by the string. The angel references are truly gorgeous. Well, if I were to give a grade on this work, it would be 100% -it is terrific.