There is a time
every day
when the world seems to spin gold.
Each breath we take is currency
each glimpse into the
face of sunset
costs.
I travel home
and weave the gold of my hair
into small squares
that hold that sun spun time.
Still and warm.
Captive and wild.
In my hand rests a
measurement
of daylight past
slow tender slants
falling East
and we murmur
down below
about the long shadows cast
about the rising chill.
We wrap our arms about ourselves
and fade into night.
Ah! So gorgeous — so warm!
I want to roll in your grass <3
pensive.
sweet.
deep and thoughtful.
Poetry is the evidence of life.
golden.
Reminds me of Where the Wild Things Are. Having a wild rumpus???
I know this time. I always leap around, and chase it…
Oh Jillian…I love that time of day! xoxo
Beautiful
Thank you so much, darlings.
I just truly do love you so much this morning.
Thanks for seeing me
and seeing this.
And now, let the wild rumpus begin!
xx
Beautiful, wonderful.