Gush of Mid-January
As mockingbirds flee in the cadence
of pellucid rain , drizzles hide a vermillion moon
that is twilight’s burst: still, a gush so dulcet
spawns a melody while stray buds, pebbles,
and lit ripples tap my feet on a menagerie of glass.
And droplets infuse a mid-January tempo
granting sweet content, where luscious drift from trickles
slip-slides on hours bathed in a fresh cycle ,
her ancestral rite of cleansing past errors...
then to tug, devour, to grasp a new purpose.
Briam's Choice Y
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