on contemplating a dogwood:
spectral arms
draped in tangled
grey tendrils
fingers, wrists adorned
with the palest of petals
outstretched
aching for the sun
like a girl
yearning for a lover
always out of reach
and for a moment, just
her beauty becomes her.
as the light rains down
on her dappled skin
one day she will awake
the palest of petals
blanketing her floor
fingers, wrists barren
radiant, no more
seasons passed
the once soft,
soothing sounds
of the ticking clock
tick-tock
tick-tock
tick.
tock.
suddenly,
stopped.
as the coldest
of winters
swallows her whole.
