Wednesday, August 19, 2020

At A Loss For Words

My intuition strikes a pose,
A lightning bug at night,
That drifts on silent drafts of air,
Leaps in and out of sight.

Although my eyes track each quick flash,
Each foxfire silver bright,
And strain to read the message there,
But capture only light.

I pondered this phenomenon,
With all my inner might,
And realized the simple truth:
The message is the light.

Mick McKellar
August 2020

Sometimes, what I want to say is right in front of me, but I catch only glimpses, leaving me at a loss for the words. Looking so hard for a deeper meaning, I miss the message, flickering in front of my eyes.


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