Built within the metal and
decaying mortar, symbols
of mortality embellished
with pearls cast aside from
swine feeding.
Collected by the man with
the wicked cowlick and
defensive grin
Hovering over his wickedness
shadows from remnants
of his day.
The mur murs from under
his breath weaved with the
words of willows branch
laced with Belladonna he
drank from a cup
Raising his hand pieces
of sun spilled over into
empty streets where ivy
grows in bunches around
my feet
Winding through my fingers
and toes not wanting to
let go
My thoughts return to
where you were that day
I saw you covered in petals
of dandelions long spent
barely a breath could be
captured between the
dripping sounds that haunt
as they streak eastward across
the sky peeling back darkened
layers to show deeper darkness
feeding the man who sits
on the knoll where the wind
pauses in a lull to capture
your portion of the dawn
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