i.
furling rosehips turn
through the fingertips
spidermoss & sparrowsong
the nest of a blue wren
the pearl would not exist
without the creeping caterpillar
ii.
i whisper not
to the furling shades,
nor whistle songs
to your ragged gaze –
nightshade fruits from every blossom
& no hyacinth left to bud in hindsight