she fell from May
like every Autumn Child-
with quiet eyes that hooked to noise,
touching around
the weight of needful things;
built a house of wood
and bone,
from silhouettes cast inside-out
where all was fully formed
of shadows
halved by fading light
and leaf.
there poised on cusp of dimming
days,
she drew so deep of hollowed air
that faith fell still
and trees began to dream
beneath her soil:
of winter cracks,
of how all rain shall someday drink
the seed.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
I agree with Trina; your work is always vivid, original, thought~provoking & pure. Good luck in her contest, Sweetie. 
