Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

Frost ferns creep across the glass;
there is beauty
in the cold of morning
when breath mingles with the mist
in intimate abandon
and the sun wears a bridal veil
blushing gold at her reflection.
Across the rain-damp altar of earth.
petals fall like confetti,
pale pink kisses
baring the seed of summer’s fruit,
promising abundance.
Feathered handmaidens
sing the paean unseen
in the mirror of perfection
as a goddess stirs.