last strand of season
braided into
next,
which colors beckon
birth?
enwombed in soil,
why stay?
when dream was
to become
bouquet.
last strand of season
braided into
next,
which colors beckon
birth?
enwombed in soil,
why stay?
when dream was
to become
bouquet.
a final dive
before summer dries,
heartbeat dim but
never dead,
time’s fog settles
over firebugs,
beauty on the
breath.
You must be logged in to post a comment.