enchantress

 Winter at (the wrought iron rungs swinging outward)

melodies play, 

 at the gates of Hacienda Paradiso:

first morning smells of ferns,

freshly watered,

Some rare bird

singing for a petal

soon to fall...

thrumming flowers

and eager light,

 beyond decay. The distant sky,

blue, and silence wracks distant waters,

some distant, sun-drenched

glass shards. The shivers shaken

by late morning, and darkness beckons

to quickly covers nestled.

To spy the secret meeting late at night,

As naked moon rises 

To revel in some core wrought passion.

Fire hot and hits with primal insight,

The shadows dance, aurora like,

Trees lay bare their royal lineage,

Trunks, blankets, final little embers;

Such efficient scrawling s,

Glorious in all their feeling,

Afternoon butterfly floating.

Slumbered future musing,

Gifted easure whispers,

Porcelain endings. 

--- 

On some snowy summit somewhere,

Hidden in the cloudy wreckage,

The oldest tip of living earth,

Reaching for the heavens.