Faded flowers
were true like the silence
of the willow strands
and the path towards
a living tunnel
made by creatures
that shriek in the gloom.I sank my hands
into soil when
not much of the afternoon
was left apart from highlights
that came from somewhere
other than the sun.
Pink, blue and cream
enamel waiting
for our craft
of the night sky.Relief rose
off me
into a mist
that had clung.
Wind, rain and I was
back inside
at my desk, notes
and lines
and images taken
of what remains
from the time
of the Corn Moon
back by when
I had saved,
prepared and stacked
hope high.