ode to an aeon

For S.

A cascade of liquid; molecules clinging tightly in a frenzied quest to stay, to float, but a sigh away from 

—falling.

Prism light reflects like a dripping mirror, a fragile film, iridescent, delicate and soft. Blown from the happy tunnels of juvenile laughter into a busy, bustling world where there is nothing to be done but reflect the beams that render you translucent.

Beautiful but brief is a photograph not taken, crackling flames dampened with a breath. An orb finally fluttering to decay with a last entrancing shiver, a dying dance to be made anew by the next giggling light. 

Featured image credit: @ellen.lemon

(From the archive: 2019)