Hushed Intentions

Petals of Quince 
Blooming across a tapestry of ice
Ivory carved mountains
reaching towards the sky 

Running, flailing, gasping for air 
leaving pools of rhubarb jam nearly everywhere 

Exhaling thick vapor I march on, following your swan song
flares of red, orange and blue 
kiss the virgin snow signaling the end of day

Cornered upon the tree line

Back thrust against an evergreen wall
the last breath is the hardest to draw


Frozen sheets of paper crafts will soon cover it all.


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