Posts Tagged ‘depth’


She teeters on the log

in the middle of the stream

and wavers

as it bobs and spins.

“If you fall

you’ll only get 

your ankles wet,”

he laughs.

“Ah no,” she says,

“it’s deeper than you think.”


(c) 1995,  2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post from 2012)



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These days are sharp

but gentle-hued,

a water color painting

spread between

the folds and pleats

of a paper fan


its little breezes whispering

that love can be this

ever long and fitting loose


through the creases

of a million swifting years


or love can be

a brief intense

a strike of lightning

from beyond

the pleated edges

of a dream


that final flash

that lights up

all the answers

when someday

they fold me up

and put me fast away.


(c) 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright



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