[FreeVerse#2]The Roughness of Spring
Bathed in hazy light, the wind grows still, Dancing through the sky — a storm of petals. My fingertips trace the edge of the desk, A gritty, bitter grain of spring. The ache of what I lost that day Melts into the light and spills away. Each time I look back, it fades to haze — A wavering face, a pale and distant shadow. Drawn by a breath that never ceases, Embracing this grainy present, as it is. Reaching my fingertips toward a world that blurs.