The Field

I wrote this poem while listening to "Who's behind the door?" by Zebra

Flowers dance in the breeze and iridescent
pinks, reds, and blues radiate in the sky
the colors melt and swirl together
as the the sun withdraws itself from the sky

The cool of night sweeps in and I pull the woven
blanket over my shoulders, my hair floating in the
gentle breeze like the wings of a bird

I close my eyes and meditate to the sound of the rustling leaves
I know that you would appreciate the delicacy of this moment
and all at once my mind submerges in your memory