Something Small

She sleeps in the flowerbed
after the winter sun has whispered
into her pale ear and made
butterflies of her mind.
She closes curtains,
permanently open are mine,
watching her time, her plans,
quietly from the swing.
She
will always be the human for me,
the heroine of my tale,
the Persephone in my 'world,
her face forever this fragile,
small,
flattening stems most innocently
marrying petals to soil.
It was not my plan but hers,
yet now
they're one in the same,
almost sheer perfect one,
a fern amongst flowers,
please never forget
- no matter the weather, nor damage
nor age, nor season, nor muck,
this pureness -
it will remain.