sanctus_fera

Speak to me soft, little fox. 

Don’t go yet.  

Don’t whisper goodbye 

To the sky 

When you haven’t even realized 

A green tea bag is baking cold out on my porch 

A piece of gray rock from the quarry wanted to be torched 

Whipped cream pecks your cheeks with specks and flecks of blue 

They’re everywhere: 

Stories of growing up and getting old 

And time slipping through a child’s fingers 

Like sand at the beaches of your memories. 

Last night a little girl came to me in a dream 

She had a head of wild blonde curls 

that looked more like 

a tangle of cat grass blowing in the wind