elysian fields

spring lifts me above His shoulders.
holding me with thickened calluses 
built by the hand of a wealthy man.

He grabs a fistful of sunny daffodils
and dainty lilacs—and hands it to me, 
reaching over His head.

the leaves fall on His pillow of hair,
and i giggle with a fist tight on the bouquet;
the other hand picking out petals
that lie still as trinkets.

i throw the loose petals onto the gentle
yet firm green meadow, watching flowers 
spring into Persephone’s return

as She takes my hand to hoist me into Her
arms, pulling me away from His grip.