Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, August 22, 2014


pressed between book  pages
On the flowers, fragile and faded,
I can still smell the scent of long-ago perfume
The petals fall, papery snowflakes
melting like promises

Written for the previous week's Sunday Mini Challenge, Triquain at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

1 comment:

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is gorgeous, LM. The fragrance of memory has been conjured with a graceful flair in your triquain.