quiet nights of busy heads
tears and creaking radiators
hugs and lamps and desks
all draped around an up
down
piano
sound
now quietly on
grassy meadows
sparks yellowpurple
mark wildflower paintings
Smell the wet soil
after the rain;
it will rain
again, and these flowers will grow
again, in different places and
different colors, shimmering
through time our toes
squelch thin mud
across sinking feet we
laughing pull them out to
wipe in the dew
careful to step around
the petals
(written in one listen)