She burst into my room, “I want to taste this summer petal by petal as if it were my last.” I cannot remember the color of her dress as she stood with sunlight pouring through the window and looked as if she were on fire.
snowflakes drift
this Easter Sunday...
the space
between her dates
cut into black stone
snowflakes drift
this Easter Sunday...
the space
between her dates
cut into black stone
Atlas Poetica, 13,Autumn 2012
