The dew of a ripened
cloud falls into
a sea of coral flavored
roses that cover most
of the ground,
their petals gathering
the morning
as if light were water,
cupped gently
in a thousand
open hands.
I walk among them,
silence growing between
each bloom,
until the world becomes
only fragrance,
color,
and the soft surrender
of rain returning home.
The ripened cloud,
emptied of itself,
flowers again below.