(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist Ruprecht von Kaufmann‘s piece, Die Welle 2012.  http://rvonkaufmann.com/home/)


There are things that fly

They twist and bend

Against blue sky illumined yellow

Black splattered with white

Gray interrupted by scatters of light—

Flap their wings

Or float

Like dreams

Stretching long on

Currents of wind

Winding through branches

And higher still

Playing with the stars

Before floating





There are things that stay

They cut the horizon with Always—

Mountaintops jutting high

Above valleys cradling

As seasons pass,

Children with wild hair

Wrinkle and fade

While limbs of Earth

Press toward


Wrapping themselves

Around, holding together

The pieces that


Ascend nor




There are things that rest

They are supple and sway

Discover stillness and move

Both in a single day—

Blades of grass yawning

Amidst beds of life,

Frogs lazy as clock towers strike

Croaking songs of love

In the dark of night,

Dogs whose paws

Chase squirrels inside dreams


By flies frenetic

Then alighting

To sow, slowly,




There are things that fall

They rise and are pulled

Held close by the moon

Then dropped in cascades—

Swells shrouded by waves

Climbing and crashing low

Furious contrast tempered by

Mystery of falling—

Petals, eyelids, snowflakes, the sun—

Or, he whose courage inflates

Buoyant inside his soul

And on the surge

Not treading but digging

Through cold

Slicing holes in which

To plant his teardrop heart—


copyright Jill Szoo Wilson