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Crimson Coda
July 29, 2009
No breath of breeze~
Leaves hang limp, unshaken
By wisp of wind or weary bird wing.
Heat drips from every pore
Moist salty brine
Pours unbidden into pooling eyebrows.
Await the evening coda as bold brush strokes paint
A palette of rosy crimson and orange
Above the creeping gray fingers of twilight
Until no longer streams vermilion bourn,
No more suspended furnace as the fiery
Remnant drops beyond reach, irrevocable, steaming.
