An Open Window

wood smoke and wet mulch
the simple scents intermingling with warmth and water
and a strand of distant lilacs
winds around the fragile breeze

the moon a distant figure
peering over the night unseen
untouched, not feeling or tasting, smelling the calm dark
just a washed, clean cut reflection
in depthless water
in depthless slants of time and shape and color
a gentle pallor on a gentle night

warmth and the fresh dew on grass not yet ripe
and the bodies beautiful illuminated in the dying hush
the last seconds of silence seeping like water down streets lined with light
caught and petrified, moving on
lacing the scent of blooming flowers in dark hair
poets of the perfume
weaving fragments and lines into the fabric of the night.