ANVIL / by David Jones

The anvil elevates like a balloon

and takes a special shape as it lazily

floats and drags its whickered cargo over

menacing power lines that whisper hissing

thoughts of peril and doom.

 

Lightning licks the flat bottom, tantalizingly close,

but just out of reach, before being

cradled by a gentle gust which reassures

you that today belongs to the breeze and

hopeful things.

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