Fingers plucking
woven strings
we dance
alone.
Fingers tapping
lacquered wood
we tap
along.
Fingers stroking
summer hair
we stare
about.
Fingers tracing
winter dreams
we smile
aloud.
Fingers reaching
out to touch
we pause
aloof.
Fingers gripping
shaky palms
we turn
around.
Twenty dancing
strings plucking
winter dreams
across lines
traced in summer
sand–we close our
eyes, turn our backs–
as tensions of opposites
abound.
A Bipolar Journey Through Zen 
amazing poem!
love the style and organizations!
if u r interested in join us, please let me know, then grab an award, visit poets to find 12 of your favorites, post a poem along with the award, u will make many new friends.
Happy Thursday!
😉
AVP is still waiting for that Frisbee dude. http://lottpick.wordpress.com or @lottpick.
The poem sings!