Petrichor

– The way it spills harmonious goo from veins of glittering gods

dirty faced
softly scented
she whispered her dreams from tips of trees


she
cursed
the
clouds


with liquid eyes
she saw the sun
and fell face first

into
the
ground

and there she blooms
and grows


Image: here


Lisa at dVerse asks us to write a quadrille (poem of 44 words) using the word “way.” 





32 thoughts on “Petrichor

  1. Face-down in dirt; so many dread it, but there’s no better way to sample the scent from which we all have sprung.

    Wonderfully developed Quadrille, TS. My thumb is up.

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