Desmond O’Brien

with a shimmer
i shake
and set out chasing
across the loose soil of myself
delighting in the spurts
i toss behind
                    in my dazzled lunge
at you,
and you
              turn when i am slowed
by a knot in my toes
or thorn in eye
                        or weary of the dash
                        yearning for your clasp
and beckon further
and beckon further
there are reams to fill
                                   worlds of weave
                                    yet to sight
little scribbler RISE
                                    to flight

                                                 to flight