by Barbara A Meier
My shadow, crowned with a glory,
bending the waves of light
at the tops of mountains,
where they catch the rays in their gnarly teeth,
spitting them out to bounce around peaks.
I am the pilot surfing my life through
the wave tunnels where I am refracted,
and redistributed, till my body visible,
fingers cold in the night,
grasp the light searing inward,
rendezvousing with water droplets,
internally reflecting, critically oblique,
leaving a halo, moonlight red
with an earth blue center,
to mark the spot where I am a broken spectre,
crashing into back-scattered moonlight.
About the Author:
Barbara A Meier is a retired teacher working in a second-grade classroom as a paraprofessional in Lincoln, KS. In her spare time, she likes to drive dirt roads, watch the farming seasons, and explore the prairie. She loves all things ancient. Her recent publications include The Gentian, LIT eZINE, Pure Slush, The Mersey Review, Antler Velvet Arts, Piker Press, Linked Verse, and Ars Sententia. She has three chapbooks published: “Wildfire LAL 6”, from Ghost City Press, “Getting Through Gold Beach”, from Writing Knights Press, and “Sylvan Grove”, from The Poetry Box.