Author: Franklyn Monk

Water droplets burst their majestic energies onto struggling seeds that spasm and squirm into a new existence. The hardwood forest reduced to serving man his pity—resilient to all that dare to penetrate its nebulous swirls and knots—a universe of its own threading. Galaxies of diamonds implode into stillness. There’s a blush, and a motion involving a perfect ear.

Had I been still
writing at the time
I’d have delighted in
that funny Irish song
you sang with your sister