The tiny yellow petals
brightened to see
your smile return
as they danced
against the northern wind,
happy as children
welcoming joy,
another day opens
petal yellow.

– Renga Round by
  Lina Ashcroft
  Maysa Peterson

Dawning

Such things are thrown
down, laid upon the
stones that line these
paths, relics left behind
once treasures held by
blooming poet or madman
blurred the lines that mark
cast shadows long and
boundaries dance beside
the sand blowing whispers
obscured the view before
horizons faded glow lowly
figures form and go
from you, those names
once stood firm have no
course, they walk alone
away labored with lingering
memories of once was
days continue now calling
release, release, release
such defining terms.

So much is lost in the shadows
that crop the view of the forest floor
where the wild ferns sway
just as lovers desire dance
longing for lush tones, hushed
now dances the wind cross 
your face,
all those days dangle there in front
the promises kept and broken,
dreams that once were vibrant held
reality’s edge would fade,
 shatter
the expectation of your return, a dream
the portrait, some flowers,  a bottle of wine
,
remains an empty vessel on the counter
long time forgotten
 when the last drop
was gone, 
waiting the shadows, dimensions
too are lost.

Surrounding you
the collection
pauses the seasons
the changing of days
those slices of grace
which catch your breath
held the wonder there
so fragile, fleeting
how it escapes you
not to be chased
nor caught for long
touches you, those tender
places you secure
held close and dear
to be left unseen, how
it grows in you now
something more to be
shared trepidation
walking the stairs
toward her room
stills your time you say
yet these things call
for the wind, the torrent
swept to others’ steps
laid their humble offerings
gifts of fruit and hope
moan the heart
exposed.