Monday, July 10, 2017

Vesper

I exist, a wraith in this forest of moonlight, mountain air, and gnarled branches amid foggy dreams. A rogue snowflake, nomadic on the wind, gives its sole performance, spinning and shimmering with determination and catching an updraft now and then as if to spite the dreadful pull of earth. Between the grim reminder of the ticking second hand, my form emerges from the clouds. I am mortal once again. And there she is, her petite body in my arms, her scent filling my lungs. Dearest love, how I long for your terse rebuttals and splendid criticisms. I wander through the underbrush and find the water's edge. The bullfrog croaks and I am reminded of ducks and loons and the perfection of your profile against the rippling waves. Arbitrary measurement moves us from our resting places and returns us to temporal affairs. Gone are the trees and their rustling leaves; gone are the lapping waves on the shoreline; gone are the days of dirt.

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