monument

She wore it like the girthless branches sprout their blossom in the lengthening afternoons of the park time day light. A smooth white cream white, pale light, pink white, blushing, veins spreading life, giving light, warming faces, swirling round, raspberry ripple in the heart, in the arms, in the fingers, melting life, dripping soft warm cream white in the park light.

Night comes. A stream of convection, darkness tripping down, wrapping cold arms round her ample bosom, the cherry petals and the cold cold cold, old light fading to star light and the chill of the cold creeping in, seeping in, stealing love, taking, keeping, stowing away the harmony of one and the world in the void of dusk.

Downward the folds gather, the accordian pleats, weight shifing starboard, the mound growing earthward, her crowning glory pointing rivets to the map of the sky, skirting over masses, the loads pushing the souls of the forefathers holding presence in the present, forcing out the past of a destination unknown.

. . . . . . . . . .