Dance of the Tamarisk

 

Clasping Venus
Looking Glass, her iridescent seeds glitter,
 as they recede in soft silence, onto dregs below

Her slender stem
weakened, by the consistent pattern, of
the now cool breeze blowing, through grassy margin and narrow ledge.

Weeping,  babes breath
with her scent,  of spent blossoms,  rambles freely over footbridges
Buds, drying with a pale apologetic  tone,  their
art of  preservation, envied,  though likely shunned by Cedars  
lamentation and the
 liturgical dance of
 the Tamarisk