Sitting in the grass fields,

sucking on lavender roots;

some bitter reminder that

yesterday is forever gone.

 

Riding with no saddle along

cobblestone roads, broken

by centuries of chains.

Confetti flecks of crimson.

 

Sunny hours marked by

midday drizzles, and the

prisms of color left behind:

holy and hollow both.

 

Wild winter nights under

midnight blankets pocked

with quartzite watchers

who never dared touch us.