Moss and moon-green Spring
fully bloomed, the dogwood trees
our breath mingles ever in the ethers
a place where sweet the soul will dwell
and shall not die nor wither

Crocus flowered violet grass
scented sweet pink hyacinth
yellow primrose metamorphosis
inhale we drink and can never think
only lose ourselves
deep in fragrant amnesia

Until beyond this meadow
when day recedes into night
and the scarlet sky of purple blues
is swallowed once more by
the molten, pearl moon