Flames flicker lasciviously licking the sky.
Leaves of life-tree quiver and shake,
Turning dark brown,
Then erupting with glowing veins of gold
And mysteriously going to ash.
Silver amongst the missing hides.
Pages of tears and joy and laughter change,
Turning quintessentially clear,
Then moving with the winds of change
And strangely longing to be gone.
She stares, empty.
In its absence nothing is real.
Vanished words can’t be hers.
Yet, deep within the sepulchre heart,
They wait, hers again to be summoned
At the Spirit’s move.