The returning mile came not out of summers settle to the burnt land, for nature’s inquest of three hundred days stole to have those drops of incandescent wealth return beneath her truncated, rivers hem. Swollen in dispersing to the fragile ground, past temperate held to a rehearse of defying age and retold in open skies, a deep sundry of blue. They paired and drew with recourse, beauty cooled the refraining midnight blue, her lifting scorch, a mettle for the lasting sample of love.

2019 Adam Blewett ©