At midnight A flower blooms Petals lifting To the moon Like a bird Who sings her song Sweetly, swiftly For too long Too long, for She's out of breath A kiss held fast 'Til her love's spent She is me And me is I And my eye sees me Left behind A heart not found In fiction's fact Encased in glass Like bric-à-brac

-Written July 3, 2012
as my life transitioned from one season to the next
For more poetry and writerly musings, subscribe to my Substack, The Wandering Author. I share short works like these on Fridays, and they're open access for everyone.
