Rain Water and Blood Trees

The infinite patterns can be traced on your hands and in the face. A moon knows only darkness in this vast space and time. What are memories but tiny mostly forgotten recollections. Sad and short standing alone in a puddle with her new shoes soaking up the rainwater.

There is blood in the trees and they spill over with abundance. The cup always full of crimson nature. Walking down the path with the water rushing at my heels, the leaves rushing at my eyes. This time of year haunts me to join the night-fire dances. Lifting my skirt a little higher each time.