Ruins, ruins.

Ruins, ruins.

A glimmer on the night lake
doused in flames
A crescent moon’s smile
torn asunder
Flush rose petals
crushed underfoot
Feathered caress
frostbit tip
A birdsong
snapped with a twist

ruins, ruins
by a bat of an eye
brave of heart
is one
that melts
in the forge.

. . .

4 responses to “Ruins, ruins.”

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