Sunday in Her Garden
Black opals shining in sunlight, jewelry she wears like a name. Is there a spell she could say, she wonders, that would have his love last? He gets close but grows elusive, wild cherry tastes fading fast, prisms of color, scents mingle with roses. She feels her heart shine on him like sun rays going out- ward, always giving to him, risks she always takes with him, for him. Hot stones, rocks, under bare feet tear at her, hold her back—retreat. The sweet pea scent of the air floats softly through her hair; she prays, hushed prayers, his name often on her...
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