Parallax

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(Photograph by Donata Wenders, The Prayer)

What concerned me most
was the fervor
of pirouettes.

“Aren’t the crocuses lovely
this time of year?”
There was a rift
in your tone.

All I remember is
being pulled away
from you,
from the shore
as we listened
to blackbirds.

A new strain,
another feigned bridge.
Still,
I am feeling less
vaulted lately.

Long ago,
I stopped underestimating
the power of environment
upon the
fragile human psyche.

A nocturnal bloom
more than you
could ever know.

Andromeda petals reflect
a light year’s longing.

In these
darkest of hours,
it is less about poetry
than it is
the poem.

(Parts of this were inspired by prompts from Poets United, Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, and The Sunday Whirl.)