By Guest Author Vol Lindsey 12/5/19 vol-raven-ink SPARKLE Behind those piled stones, in the corner of my garden a drop of clear water is all that’s needed to cut a petal’s grip on her sated, pink ovule in the sensual center of a complicated iris. I think she must sigh when her toes lose their grip; I can almost hear her song, an all too familiar lament written for all of us when we begin our dissolution into Earth. If you care enough about such things, you might take a moment to watch the sun sparkle in her dying drop of dew.

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