Dew on a pedal
I sit by a flower,
Large in size,
Dipping and giving way beneath its own weight,
The peddles tired from the wind.
My body shudders,
The motionless people around me fade into the ever thinner air.
Mist rolls over the ice cold air,
Condensing into my hands,
I question the light that erodes from the form.
Bobbing to the echos of silence in this darkened night,
The flower wilts,
Sinking into the illuminated cloud.
The branches melt before my eyes,
I can see the roots of its life through the half-dry soil.
Yet I don't question the shape,
Or the volume,
For I hold in my hands what god had given me.
Forget what the world transcends into your open palm,
For the wind that gently brushes the leaves back and forth,
Shakes the very roots