we fall all over ourselves…
bending, stretching, reaching for jewels
as if they aren’t
at our feet and just to the left of right,
beyond the ideas of what should be
or thoughts of who has more integrity.
flowers bloom late,
singing in the pelting melt of sky
melodies defying loss,
haunting what remains –
elixir fragrant, magick making
love, love, love…
potions conjuring newness
calling one more dance
on the edge of autumn’s field.
J. Ruth Kelly 
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