Read Write Poem Prompt #105 was a Wordle. I used some of the words and some synonyms for some of the words, but I didn’t use all of the words. For instance, wind shows up as breath and sigh. Meteors became falling stars, pulled became hoisting. Backs morphed onto backpackers. The only thing left of the trees is their fallen fruit. and the stars are only implied by the sky. The moon led me to minaret. You get the idea.
The Resting Step
Backpackers don’t neglect the tiny rest that lies
between two steps, a rest the space of a breath.
In that moment, they gain strength from shells
that pierce and mosses that curl around stone.
They taught me that the way to climb was not
by hoisting myself up, but by setting one foot
before me and straightening my leg, moving
forward and upward with a syncopated sway.
Near the top of this hill lies, almost like a sigh,
a clearing with a view of the water, the bridges,
the minarets, where once in spring orchids flared
like falling stars, and once in autumn silent crows
feasted on the fallen fruit before lifting skyward,
and in between the two, a point of abiding rest.
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