Always verdant you
are a March wildflower...

You can see it in her eyes:
She remembers your kisses...

There is no many-hearted
cloak of glory...

A sliver then,
a single silver crescent...

These mists vivisect reality,
constrain its intention...

In the chilling twilight
Her breath, in dewy wisps...

Yes....
I remember Ares' cry...

She pauses in tenacious indecision,
naked toes poised above the water...

Sheathed in tears,
Some edges slice...

Not caress, nor
nudge, nor even tap...

Though clouds dirge black
and talons rake the green to frosty white...

Against the moon
No assassin's blade could strike so deep...