[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.