Competition - January 2011The Bubble - John Buchanan

Born of a child’s soft breath
caught in a soap filled hoop.
I dance on the gentle breeze
any edge is instant death.

More vibrant than a stained glass window
and far more delicate;
my quickly changing surface
caught by this photo in limbo.

When I burst, no shards will remain.
I’ll expire in a blink,
tiny droplets will dance on the floor
leaving only the hint of a stain.

John Carré Buchanan