to CA
The warm whispers
of the fingertips:
Their cultivated form lay
forever and now silent,
So the song would seem.
Betrayal is wrapped up
In the leaves of the damned
And the careless.
An inconceivable wilt
In the flower of her soul-
Visible to all who see.
Yet, unfurling from
This tangled nest of organics
Lies a remarkable seed.
What remains to be seen
Is the tempo of the weather
And the fervor of the germ.
Ideal conditions for a bloom-
No such season known before,
Hearkens to the soil underneath.
Believe it or not,
The Sun will rise again.
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