The cattails I brought you
have burst long ago
& sent their fluff

seeding wherever
it was you threw them.

If only I may let go
so flagrantly

as the cattails,
as you;

as wind;
the past;
the seeds.

Apocalypse: What Death Cults Really Want
In Which Cackling Self Vanquishes Wild Grief, While Rational Self Could Not
Where Were You When…?
Recipe for Grief
  • Jane Larson

    Just beautiful, David. Paints a picture of serenity. love it!