the conception of time

(creation)

wrapped around
empty doors that shine in the night

women that see men in the black sky even when the sun don’t rise

the bark from the trees lifted ever so softly

leaves crawl up vines that twist and turn

 begin to choke out years of life just to hang loose

everywhere to the left I see poppies, red poppies

the field is glistening

the golden horizon behind it