April 6, 2015 § Leave a comment
Pick up wind-blown shreds of someone else’s life. Bin. Cut early surge of green, slice edges, dig. Note wooden seats are damp, gate lock rusted, path encrusted with clusters of emerald moss. Inhale scent of hyacinths pooling about my ankles. Gaze on swell of blue dots, forget-me-nots at the margins.