The Flute Concert

Eerily creeping upward
From the dark recess of the mind
Lilting desolation
Solitude hangs in the air
Still as death
Emerging on the other side
Poured like silk on wounds
Healed over by time

the wind / runs its fingers / through your hair

A scrap of paper dancing on the road kicked by the wind

small whirly-gig like seeds spin to earth to become tall trees