palisades shrouded in mist
its sacredness seeps into my bones
and I stand in reverence
If The Liminal Could Be Seen
Reawakened
when my flame of awe flickers
nature’s beauty
fans it back to fire
Seen With A Sigh Of Awe
petals and wings
are ephemeral things
pulling on our heart strings
Behold
all the benedictions of spring
are rivaled by
the transformations of decay
Picasso
Is it wonder or awe or angst that it shares?
Could it be a wooden reflection?