All Fell to Winter

A finger of dyslexic caliber
wraps itself around the chain.
So much left to worry over
heaviness and butterflies,
wings against the wind,
daring and free.
Such were the equations
we brought to life that day,
a marsh of sun entwined
in white fragrance,
thought we thought in depth
of trust, grappling as we
did the hull of dialogue.
Blooms fell away in our hands.
Ripples formed along
the surface of the dear.
And everything pertinent
we quelled in our youth
returned wearily to the canvas,
How quarrel the belief,
how arrow the divine masque?
And slowly, silently,
all fell to winter
the weathered eyes.

-r. miller


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