A photo my son Scott Tucker took and one of the many inspirations for my own poetry!
Escape
Beneath the oak
Winded leaves watch a butterfly.
The silence, quite beautiful,
Draws the colors of
Innocence.
Antiquity is
Host intimate treading lightly,
Afraid of logic born
In the breathing
Of round worlds.
A strand
Of your dark hair falls out of place.
It escapes my reach.
In brandy pools I see my soul
reflected.
Suspended
In atoms of ancient dust:
Aware of the sun going down,
Its copper eye wooing
The butterfly…
Escaping round worlds.
Poetry on Wings 