Returning

sweetened seeds in sheaths,

spring’s tunic dressed in

last sun’s poppies,

twelve moon pirouettes since

we consumed these;

Dragon Thaw

The winter stretched like Ouroboran tail,

Thus, the rider sought the dragon

Iron Scale beneath her bridge

“we need your breath of fire

For life to prevail,”

The rider said.

One roar,

Spring.

Hope has petals

Insignificance does not apply, Rose pepper wings and crumbling things, As petals fade in half-light Clinging to the old walls To catch the flight of butterflies.   Antonia Zenkevitch a response to a VJWC prompt