Posted in Stories, Writing

My Everlasting Summer

My take on a sestina.


Silky threads and quilted dreams run wild through the streets,

We never learned enough to keep the wilted growing weak.

When I could see, I lived in gossamer seeds

That grew and grew until we reached out to our catastrophe.

Now that faded memory is glowing in the dark,

Coming back to swirl amongst the nightingales and larks. Continue reading “My Everlasting Summer”