Submitted by Dan A. Cardoza
The scent of decaying roses rivers
through the torn laced window.
We have fallen back to earth,
a pair of butchered angel wings.
We inhabit the moment, a ghosts
of thatched bones & feather, in this harsh
haunted world of dawn.
As we wake to a windy sun, the window
screen sifts dust, powdering
our damp brows with salt & silt. Our
inhale, exhale parched.
Too hastily the moment is dying. In our
remnants, the end inevitable, yet in the
ditcher, our memories reflect wildfires,
still raging in the corridors of 3:00 A.M.
About the Poet
Dan has a Master of Science Degree in Counseling. He is the author of two Chapbooks, Nature’s Front Door & Expectation of Stars. Partial credits include Amethyst, UK., Ardent, Better Than Starbucks, California Quarterly, Chaleur Magazine, Curlew, UK., Entropy, Esthetic Apostle, Poetry Northwest, The Quail Bell, Skylight 47, Ireland, Unstamatic, and Vita Brevis.