After the Tempest

 

My wildflowers wilt in the sun.

Their pallid faces mimic contours

Of landscape— tallis fields

And wounds from raindrops.

My petals shed like in autumn

When leaves walk the plank.

I was beguiled by the full moon,

In all its splendor and harvest.

Your love was like waiting for a meteor

Shower in a hail storm—brilliant

As picasso’s textured strokes.

Sweet rainwater cascaded down lips

Cracked and peeling from overexposure.

The tempest heaved chests, pulsed veins,

Sprained ankles, scruffed knees,

Twisted wrists, hallowed bellies,

Fed flowers hope 
For one phototropic dance.

Yet dawn is a catalyst— drying salty tears,

Exposing the true face of our mountains.