Two flowers and a word
stared back in my reflection.
The white orchid, luminous,
like a ghost or an angel,
fit me like a dress.
Like watery silk,
a river sliding down my shoulders.
the hungry ebb of time consumes my skin
and I am nothing but bone.
blue as the sky
sitting on my tongue,
spring and earth and new beginnings.
The single word
written in syllables
I understand, yet cannot comprehend,
rippling lazily in the foggy glass above me
as if waiting to be read.
And I am certain if I could,
the orchard dress would become my wings
and the mirror, a window into another world.