It is unnatural
To make the peony grow backwards
But you can without trouble
Pull away her petals.
Find a balance, equanimity
Feel the rush of the ocean
Beneath the surface of your skin
And dance
Lightly, like a seldom
Falling leaf in the
Unknown and uncertain cold air-
A surge of air.
And you breathe
Clouds- it is unnatural to
Swim in a frozen lake or revive those long dead.
But we try.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}