The sky is falling
head over heels
for a world that doesn't
bother looking up.
Meant for this to be longer, but I'm not sure it really needs to be...
Weary winds seek solace
in the arms of conifer giants,
having not yet discovered that
even mountain pines shiver
when winter is at its darkest.
An illusion of perfection.
We lusted after opulence
while the ravens hungered
for September to douse their dwellings
in amber and burnt sienna.
I searched for starlight beneath the waves
while sand and sky wore matching shades of indigo
and remnants of reflected galaxies
drifted across the surface in plain view,
making their way lazily
to the shore where I once stood.
Don't you hate it when you miss something that's right in front of you?
February's gaze wanders ahead to
the last week of April, engraved with the
scent of lavender soap and sun-dried earth.
But, as always, these faded days
can only take him so far.
Maybe next spring.
Ursa Major yawns,
knowing winter will
grant her no rest
for sleep does not come easy
beneath the weight of
The hills speak fondly of us,
of morning hazes and astral downpours,
keeping their voices low as they
trace our names in the earth, sheltered
in the shadow of the tallest peak.
Storms pass overhead
as midnight lumbers out from
its hiding place among the stars
to get its feet wet
and enjoy the rain.
August leans in close,
its dew-stained breath no match
for the fawns who are still young enough
to leap through knee-high blades,
unencumbered by the warmth.
Perhaps we are still young enough
to join them before the wildflowers doze.
It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.
The galaxy dances above the ether,
and the moon smiles at the melody,
knowing all the while
that it was written
just for her.
— The End —