Somewhere- along curled yellow roses,
a wind revived-
there are no more dry remnants
that steal my desire.
Instead, I am bequeathed
with something tangible
to crawl in,
a midsummer's partner.
I am released,
the chancy grass risking their
lush bones
to brush against me.
My spirit is disentangled
for I am not letting
myself be crowned
by the loss of you-
but by the remaining
glory,
illustration of everything
you still are.
