Upward strokes

of cloud-wisps,

a contrail

left as an ephemeral gift,

 

fading and floating away

but calling attention,

flaunting evidence

of launched heart-wishes,

 

sky wishies

taking flight,

one dreamer

setting out to find

 

what it desperately desires,

or perhaps nothing more

than having the foolish courage

to transcend boundaries and

explore.

 

The upward strokes

brushed upon the canvas

give hope,

for there are no edges,

no frame,

no conclusion,

where they reach,

unknown,

 

and I, too,

want to go…

 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise