Poetry Week | Forever Searching by Alison McCrosson

Forever Searching

by Alison McCrossan

 

On these hills everything is backward –

the clouds sink to the grass,

pock-marked by hooves passing through, 

my feet turn and twist, but I don’t care

for at last, I have touched this summit.

 

This is where my dreams were placed; 

I would gaze at these slopes, their curve 

against the sky, and roll my ambitions 

to the other side, the unknown, where 

after all, anything is possible.

 

Far below, a landscape of streets 

I know, housing estates and home, 

all colours fade to blue to grey, 

even the greens, even the red bricks.

I’m standing on my dreamscape, 

topsy-turvy, so now I turn 

 

and look the other way:

 

a rolling terrain of fields and woods,

melodies and cries of birds; a distant low,

the waft of grass and rain, soft, evocative:

plant and ozone; the scene lifts and falls, 

and finally blends into dipping showers, 

 

but 

 

beyond: 

 

surely the slopes sweep against the sky.


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Cover photo by Daniel Angele on Unsplash

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