pressed
into the pages
here my story lies
a sacred bloom
once crimson
sweet perfume
I close my eyes
and once again
rest beneath the boughs
spied upon
by eyes in search
of mine
melody of nature
music of the trees
ancients raise
a silver canopy
to catch the light
surrendered
by ten thousand
dreamed before
spirits I have spoken
here my heart
a blossom as a kiss
resolved –
as dear my own to taste
the fragile scent
of memory
remains

. . .