Let it pour

They tell me, just write
wonder whether prose would be best,
How can a poem suffice, and yet

I am looking at a sky that shifts and delights
It can’t be captured with a click.
The colours transform and so do the shapes,
All ethereal but never the same.

And how can you portray the swifts flying
with such speed and delight,
Forwards and up and down.
Singly or in almost a murmur.

Suddenly the sun painted a few clouds
in delicate golds and purple,
I bet when I look up, they will change again.

I forgot to tell you about the winter trees
Stretching their dark branches high,
against the backdrop of eggshell and pink.

Would it be that we need to look more,
to drink it all in
to find joy, to find us.
Then let it pour out.

© miriam ivarson