Sands by the Gaslight

   
Morning brought us cold leaves  
         swaying in the spring wind.  
Time, she changes seasons again.  
Dancing in magnolia trees  
         on azalea spun breezes,  
She is always the end.  
Borderless sky,  
Sunlit fingers lost against  
                  her bright sigh  
                  of grass and flowers--  
         when did it begin?  
Second after second into hours,  
These years make graves of mountains,
Which binding her vowels into songs  
         could never prevent.