This is the beginning
all possibility and nubile gestures
the soft, damp dawn
touched with dew and whispy, whispery fog
we live in a valley of green
hills of gold
crowning moist, damp earth
there will come a time
where we gather these days around us
an aged bounty of petals
strewn whimsically on a sturdy, well-worn floor
and, creaking with the walls
flesh earth-like and joints like stone
we’ll dance gently into night
