The bones are still canvas
knuckled & chaffed dry by winter chill
Not a leaf, not a petal tarries by
only the roots hidden deep, knits
the pattern of light & shadows
the memories of fullness of moon
as seeds dream of sweetest fruits
and vines drape their fingertips on empty husks
I trace the chords of
maddening clouds & tumult of dying sun
There's a grumble of hysteria underground
I can't wait to scent the delirium of first blooming
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Please join us with a poem when the pub doors open by 3pm EST.
