a ghost of August

in drifted snow

a small flower seemed to shiver

cast by wind and white

[I think it felt the grip of cold

and yet it reached for sun]

through the too short day

into evening as I passed a window

then it was in a near-full moon

and night winds that brushed petals.

One fell-a droplet of summer-

a ghost of August,

shed rain drop, red upon white cotton.

It did not shiver more

but leaned close to falling too

as if it knew, was time to rest in an easy bed

[as a seed speaks of winter]

as when

I lay my head on your breasts

and kissed your skin, once for passions

again for remembrance; to glow

in flowered nights and warm shivers, as winter

lay soft upon fallen petals of love