Seeds spin like helicopters

We’re like seeds in the sky,
how we start in the distance and might be a bat,
a sparrow, a dragonfly, a seed

We start from one corner and slip to the side, come back into focus,
carry on a current, collapse

The pine branches are beckoning hands cupped by the wind, a bouquet:
Parts of me fall like them each day,
handfuls of hair, wilting skin, drying leaves,
the angle of the sun behind my eyes

The whirligig is a stick in the grass that spins its arms, catches the light,
racking up smiles for kids, always the same trick

We’re pinwheels fanning the air, learning to swim, tilting,
pretty colors spinning,
mouths out, waiting for more air.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Seeds spin like helicopters

  1. Elyse says:

    What lovely images. I haven’t heard the word “whirligig” in decades!

    Like

  2. alesiablogs says:

    I am “weaving” on my blog post and you are spinning! Great minds think alike!

    Like

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