Poetry Pick

QUINTESSENCE by Fran Figge

When the last drip on winter's bough     hangs at death's door and the youthful heartwood masked     beneath blossoms withered and pale          lies still the dreams of blush and bloom linger     that brushed lightly the bosom of the earth and with shivery breath     the dreams and the dreamer arise a quintessence of dancing motes     scattered in stardust          across the skies From Tower Poetry, Vol. 61 #1, Summer 2012

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