Withered meadows
I can dream no longer
your wings of stone
are far too uncaring
and I simply cannot handle
another grass stain

I love those
breezy Saturday nights
with the swinging irises
lazy daydreaming lashes
and I am peace
glowing in the dark with
my surrounding happiness

I'll carry this jar and letter
throw it to the bottom of
the deep end
in the morning a stranger can
find it and wonder the mystery
of rushed lead and bold lettering