Clouds

of bee-pricked asters

hum

while your voice –

     frilled in petals

     & promises –

carries

beyond the window’s

tidy panes,

weaves

through the bloom

& sway of October’s

violaceous hue

And

though I reach

for you,

this separation –

     seen,

     unseen –

remains.

— C.Birde, 10/22