It slips in unannounced, an uninvited thought, winding through the instantaneous temperature drop of violet clouds at sundown, draping my shoulders in a veil of antique lace, a birdcage of scent about my face, I retrace steps in a time of near memories, no true recollection, I’m not meant to remember…but I have the fleeting perfume, of black locust blooms, and my body upon the marred hardwood floor, the moon rising to meet my eye, a bride of all that’s born to live must die…green leaves that shake off the burning sun, to adorn their shadows and whispered incandescence, the fox screams in a pitch of adoration for her mate, I can’t mimic her rise, my screams are silent and held in fists and escape in the tingling of scrying fingers, I war with my words and let flatline the doubt, I’ll never get it right, never be the idyll…but the violet evenings of spring, my flesh and hair awash in the sweet nectar of cascading white blossoms sweeping the night breeze, a lone bird singing to the darkness…and I’m the glint of a star awaiting to answer in kind…

E.A. O'Connell