I hold your face in my hands. Your eyes hold that glint of tears that they refuse to unleash. They are tears born of regret over decisions made, and fears over future prospects. I can only hold your face in my hands a moment before lowering them at your gentle touch on my wrists.
If only we would dance among the daffodils and lillies under the coming Flower Moon. We would laugh, and sing “She could have danced all night.” Like we do during all of our spontaneous dances.
Alas, a moon dance does not salve the growing pains of being the bamboo. Only patience–and faith–do that.
in blood light
I’m hosting Haibun Monday over at dVerse, where we’re writing about the Flower Moon. The Pub is open! Come join us!