raised by invisible hands the last of mist lifts from the field as raw light floods the senses
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another kind soul passes gently through the veil to the otherside
passing breeze: how sincere the bow and rise of wildflowers
with complete determination: a brown beetle crawls across a damp leaf
spring: a swallow dives low erasing the meadow’s existence with a clean sweep
what if the old stone was an elder god: first light peels back the layers
spreads gently the petals of a flower in bloom a spring bee’s hunger for the soma of the gods
the light sets into the recesses of petal and bud as the wildflower field softens
waves press stone: pressure transforms into deadly razors on the coast
a winged god drops out of thin air and announces its arrival to no one
elancharan gunasekaran 