Blossom

The musk of charring wood permeates

Staining the sunset with peacock trails of watercolor ash

Forgetful clouds lie in wait

The bark blackens and curls

Crackling threaded between a train whistle

Echoes of laughter ringing in the leaves

The train rolls on into the distance

The curtain of nightfall in tow

Car Wheels; the rural ocean

Lapping at the curb

Somewhere one window is illuminated

A golden square on a darkened canvas

The silhouette is stoic and staring

Profiled in the glow

Listening to each string

(Eyes closed in reverence)

Wondering when

The first person ever had the nerve

To play.

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