The Sun

Fallen ranks of red:
stamen spent, petals bent,
septum perrianders
mined to renderless;
now a trail of fragile
crumbs cracked brown,
to be ground to dust
while the clock sweats.
Hand over hand it hauls
from east to west to
test the moon’s resolve
to cool each bloom
and wake a hope
where hopeless rests.



Feb, 2013




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