Your Words

I woke in the night thinking of these

words you wrote: Summer blossoms

forth. There was a spectacular full

moon braving the slim crack in the

curtains, pushing a sliver of silver

forcefully into the bedroom. A glint

of it hit an old mirror, brought instances

of the antique alive again. I woke in the

night with scents and petals and summer

blossoming in a tired light. What might

come from this season, what’s meant by

the glory of moonlight reflected? Your

words were swords pricking my sleep;

there were strawberries and lilies and

syllables deep in my full moon dreams.