The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over silver eddies
brushing still-wet velvet wings;
maroon and yellow, neon blue,
pseudo-bark underneath
in the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth
sampling nectar with newly-curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool
damp cord of fir put up for winter,
awakening in spring, tasting early
summer before the reprieve
is over, time come to fold
worn and battered wings, to slip
free of this mourning cloak and rise.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment