The Spaces Between Seconds

I think of you in the spaces between seconds

And when the night bleeds into day;

At the source of every glowing ember.

I sit in the palm of your hand

And wrap myself in your voice;

The wind whistles sweetly,

Carrying a tune so perfect and clear,

Lifting the fallen leaves into a swirling amber song.

A glistening pearl imperfect,

Still beautiful as it sines;

When behold with it's parentage, what competes?

The iridescent mother cured it so;

Nothing but all that is wickedly concealed away;

It suddenly becomes its glory.

A crimson bloom beside the bay,

Frozen over in a case of glass;

The tree stands tall as the sun shines,

Freezing quaking leaves.

Proud of the strong roots;

Kindly bearing silver apples;

A brittle bark shields from the storm

And assists the child in harvesting the fruit,

Who sells the silver of a little gift;

Not much, but just enough.

And later as the summer burns,

Yellow and crumbling;

Faded letters on wrinkled parchment,

Shown to the light, forgotten for years

On a wall in some old home;

Reminiscent of tulip petals

In some sprinkled dewey grass;

Forever merry spring

Until they're all dead and dying.