I do not have the gift of certainty.

I do not have the gift of certainty.
Do not look to me for clear edges,
black and white strokes.
The periphery of my vision blurs
with colour like the Northern Lights
blazing a midnight sky.
It moves too fast to focus –
to capture a crisp image
that you can frame and hang
on the wall to remember clearly
what was said.
All I know is that what I saw
was free and beautiful;
too beautiful to pin
like a dead butterfly
on a collector’s board.

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One thought on “I do not have the gift of certainty.

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