Your myth

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

The sky is the realm of one

We

are the realm of three

One —

faith and ritual, rock and sea

Two —

desire and sacrifice

poetry and tea

Three —

Words gliding against branches

chasing rolls

of pleated chiffon.

Three.

Moon-kissed cheeks

breathing

the scent of morning.

Three.

When would you like to make love to me?

In winter

I am sprinkled over blue spruce.

In spring

I am the scent of a snowdrop tree.

I am your myth

a harvest hymn

the third

of three.