Crepidotus Cinnabarinus
Against a landscape of decay,
any small particle of color
stands out like a flame.
Isn't that how you arrived
in my life, an unexpected
burgeoning I did not know
how to account for?
The sharp edges of your collar
smelled of soap and the memory
of their last rinsing.
Long ago, it was possible
to bathe in rain and not burn.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
