the dream of the wildflower
the fire burns
but does not warm
& I find myself
digressing past oblivion
that place where dreams
replace realistic scenes
ones you’ve not seen
since the start of the
previous season
it was a temporary life
these wildflowers
wrapping them in damp
breathable cloth &
transported with haste
a few precious petals
secured inside
heart-shaped boxes
all others transplanted
february two thousand twenty-two
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