When I am sweltering, your shrines catch me the snow.
When my flowers bloom, your leaves flush to crimson.
When my leaves blemish and fall, your flowers erupt.
When snow falls in my life, you offer me golden fields and steaming roads.
When I sink, you elevate me.
When I am the fulgent moon, you deal in wells.
Your streams cut through my rock.
Your rocks guide and steer my streams.
Boats wait at your lake’s edge, as empty as a Sunday morning.
Your rain slashes at April’s woodcut.
My heart gallops at the end of every month.
No comments:
Post a Comment