The waxen seal to hold a letter fast—
a kiss mark on an envelope, deep red—
from me to you. You’ve always liked your
bread
hinted with buttercups, their gold amassed.
Somewhere in the back of my dress closet,
I unearthed my silk. When there is silence
your voice echoes in my mind, a white
horse.
Somewhere in the depth of time, the wind
stopped.
Horses ran down the hill in the morning.
Holding out my palms in open posture,
I was waiting for you—the sunrise, drenched
in colour. I think of you; a bell rings.
Observing myself in the glass mirror
of time, reminds me of all you defend.
