baying at the moon (*)

the sun sets on spring
but blooms are more than
fireworks popping out into the night.
no,
blooms are a subtle,
gradual process
one that finds you some day
past any point of return
glowing brilliant as flames
consume you.

you know the words
to make me
immolate
you wield them
so readily
you know them well.

baying at the moon, I find myself
careening
falling
off the edges but
you.
tug my leash and remind me
the world still blooms in spite
of it all.

i’m here. it’s all i’ll ever be.

–