how soft
to lay
the blossoms down –
as anchors
for the weed
a carpet spread
beyond the dusty wood
sings to me of
summer –
another day as this
we shared a breath
in silence
and wondered if
we should

of all
we’ve known
how many there
remember us by name
an essence
swirling hue
of cedar smoke
gathered into leaving
holds us here
sometimes –
a universe for every
secret spoke

tell me
of another –
of ancient will removed
dreams are curled
against the window pane
where yesterday
the thistle
sprouted from our words
reached to catch
a taste
of summer rain

. . .