I used to enjoy blowing bubbles.
I could sit for hours at a time
scanning rainbow-crystal-ball worlds
awhirl in a tear-thin soap brine.
Now spinning a dream, now a chance&endash;
my creations would drift on a laugh,
Or catch on a breath of a cause,
Or sighing sink through their birth-path.
But I somehow forgot to count bubbles,
And the mixture ran out yesterday.
Sunset glittered gold on the last,
And winked, and then flickered away.
© John McNeil 1998. All rights reserved.
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