It was a second or a minute ago in
the far wood
land that she knelt by the twilight
cast her crimson, violet flowers
into the smooth
stone flow that fed the fold of waters.
All night lost, and long wading he
in the white
drifting sea, pale breath breathed,
his naked need
bowed in the harsh cloud wind;
a flower- desired
to cradle her, sought the far wood.
He walked the carved path land, bread
of moonlight ground;
looked. by the cloth of leaves, she
of the sky flower
touched him close and all the woken
the river mouth wended waters.
Copyright © 05/29/2016 lance sheridan