A window holds its breathas the day thins to a pale wash.Frost gathers at the corners,soft as dust.Someone walks past,coat brushing the airand sending in a brief drift of coldthat sharpens a thoughtthe way cold sometimes does—clean, immediate,quietly sure...

From living,  to memory,  to dust,  to forgotten.    My beloved, so many pictures, so pretty your grave, so sadly forgotten.    From heat of blushes, to the cold of death, to existing in memory only, to forgotten dust in the wind. 

Only certain speciesthrive in poor conditionsvivid with colorresilient in survivalwith large petal earsto provide shade andmagically bloom tusks the color of ivorywho hold onto memories and tailscherishing their youngwith their trunk handsothers playful in black and white stripes each...

sadness answers me from deep withina lone sacred voice...melancholyblue infused with lonelinesslooking for something beautiful through the chaosquiet and pure with the fascination of a childbut with wisdom of the learnedgently she instructs me urging me forwardsometimes she is...