On the flat stone she
wept her thousand regrets.
Wax petals, a mother’s
confetti of pink tears.
This was a song a
descant to winter-tide.
Of lighter months,
not to the stone off
dark grey lands
carrying lichen kisses.
And as the lichen looks,
death’s breath rattles
and waxed tears wash
abandoned to stoney seas.
A flower’s shower
a softer form of rain.
As the tree reaches out,
tentative fingers touch
her children’s clothes.
Ancient fruits that grew
before first flight arced,
beetles climbed these trees:
ancient crawling bees.
Mitochondrial Eve,
as magnolia flowers breathed,
oxygen rich and rot
from the seas.
©️ Dai Fry 2nd May 2020.