Drowning.

In pollen.

Naturally intoxicating. ...

“Don’t go astray.

That way!”

Life signs, ...

He used it,

To hang his calendar.

Closing my eyes, ...

Strange,

How nature’s haphazard streaks,

Don’t diminish beauty. ...

Carefully arranged,

Drying in the sun,

Waiting to be used. ...

The last one,

You saw.

I carried you home. ...

Packed and protected.

Ready for use,

On gloomy winter days, ...

Protect me.

Keep them out.

When it gets dark, ...

Burn bright.

Burn well.

Scorch, ...

Things,

May seem,

Like what, ...

Buried,

In concrete.

Bent. ...

In every season,

There is fruit,

Lingering, ...

Flow gently,

To the next pond.

It’s quieter there. ...

Slowly crumbling down.

But I don’t care.

Door is shut. ...

I’ll miss your smears,

Colors,

Lies. ...

Sometimes she looks tough.

Even harsh, and

Threatening. ...

“That day…”

A Sunday morning,

Windy and warm. ...

I may be rusty,

But still around.

There’s work to do, ...

Signs,

Helping navigate,

Through life. ...

Even a few,

Small,

Obscure flowers, ...