The Oracle found a use for the rose photos I took yesterday
Though this wind scatters
the ruins of beauty
love is singing in the shadows.
We who cry will show you how
the darkness is shot through with light,
salt spray, the sweet scent of roses,
and the achingly blue above
fills with dreams,
sun-whispers drift like feathers.
Summer petals blow among the dead leaves
and running ditch water sings sea songs
when the moon swells.
Ask her your questions,
she will answer
in the tongue of the birds.