The small, out-of-history,
Far away lights in these
Big, darkening skies make
Reassuring noises; the shadows
Do not clash and threaten.
The horizon is a pale-line queen
Swooning beneath a ripped-tissue
Curl of early-spring-promise moon.
The crocus road is longer, much longer
Than I could have expected and I start
To fall towards a gentle, butterfly death.