A wall of white masks the evening sun.
Such an abundance of beauty,
A plethora of imagined snows
Piled row upon row,
Tier upon tier,
For idle passers pleasure.
I’ll miss you in the summer
When emerald filters the daylight
And the world lacks your subtle bouquet.
I think I’ll tarry beneath your boughs a little longer,
And soak in the early evening
As your guest.
For the last day of #NaPoWriMo.
Painting by Caravaggio detail
A baby hand clutching my finger,
A kitten opening blue eyes,
Kingcups on the riverbank
When the spring floods ebb,
Petals unfurling in flags of perfume,
A glass of wine on an evening terrace,
Your hand touching mine,
So long ago,
Making silent promises,
That only now I see you kept.