Vessels ply the river of shadows
flowing like wind through willow branches
not crawling over mud and stones
and not a stain on the world

They are nailed together with effort
and brushed with the color of imaginings
They carry north the trembled souls
to the hope of that rarefied air

That corona that flows from the sun
as smoke glides from the captain’s corona
and rises to the top of the bluffs
to confound the fugitive catchers

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 60 at The Sunday Whirl.

34 thoughts on “Corona

  1. Haunting landscape and snippet of story. I also like “ply the river of shadows”, “not a stain on the world,” and that wonderful “fugitive catchers.” Immediately thought about a possee seeking stray poets, who take liberties with words. I know that sounds weird and was not your intent, but nothing seems all that strange of late. besides, we readers have the freedom to choose our own associations, lol. Thanks for this one, Richard,



    • Thanks. I looked up “corona” to make sure I was using it correctly, and found another meaning that I was not familiar with. So, I used it both with both meanings in my poem.



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