Riverside

Wisps of white cotton with

cerulean breeze; towards northwest,

the bright sun leans

Thick grass blends straw and green;

at little lattice topped table, I sit

alongside fruit laden Queen palm trees.

With royal blue Papermate, I write

in an old notebook, by velvet water,

where I saw an eagle flying once.

Tall reeds point eastward;

the current can carry one all the way

to a sweet salted ocean.

Blue is the soul of fresh air, the field

in the upper left corner of a flag where

fifty white stars reflect drops of sunlight.

--By Karen Bressner