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