Frost on Violets

The white violet

is scented delicate

surrounded by feelings,

I feel them like tendrils,

fragile agate sea-violet

roots grasping at the sand

frail, catching the light-

physically grazing my hand!

The star edges spark fire-

I shudder at mental tentacles

with blue indigo ink staining

my cheek in a fortean drip,

the greater blue violets

flutter back at Monday’s bird

collapsing at the weight of word.

Floating lenten blue, idle  

cloaks waft east to west in the wind

grazing past my ekpyrotic universe,

a conflagration of brains on brane

entangle in mirrors of heavy rain,

I see other’s feelings-

as clear as frost on violets.