P. MICHAEL MASTROFRANCESCO

 

As It Goes...


We are caught in a moon bounce, one of those
futuristic air bubbles kids lose themselves in:
a mini world where movement snaps
gravity, where sound ricochets off walls, echoes
then falls. For a moment we float, twirl in sync, land
sure-footed on an elastic surface to propel ourselves

higher. Everyone wants a turn, crowds into this place
where time warps, distorts everything kaleidoscope-like
and bends the moonsway of our Matisse Waltz.
Silent, we fumble for that spark like children
who grab for fireflies: mouths open, arms waving
like loose string, hands catching fistfuls of air.

 

Copyright © Michael Mastrofrancesco 2002

Appeared in Potomac Review



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