Amaryllis' Return

Amaryllis' Return

Fields full of fire smoke.

Great big umber trees.

Through another mutated season,

I am tender to something sturdy and oak.

Playfulness returns to my stale limbs.

I glide through glaucous pools.

My wrists shimmer through the lifeless waters.

A herring stands porcelain at the edge.

As the first embers start to fall,

I dream of sitting at a table set for your family.

With crimson stains on the cloth from three Christmases ago.