Random as an Even Number


© Diane Beaty

© Diane Beaty















         Lines given light in long, quick

         flashes; reckless swirls;


         sheaves of luminosity – dark,

         then bright, then dark again –

         evasive thought the shaft


         of shadows, empty haze of gauzy

         blue. Streetside baubles

         tease our eyes as tinkers dance


         among the shining. A pause

         is but a small eclipse,

         something caught and grappled to


          whirring like a paddled blade,

          hay grown small in

          summer’s story. We touch


          our lives to this release, all these

          things both new and strange.





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