Sits heavy around us
Taking oxygen we need
Without caring it must be ours.
Gliding in on tulle-draped gowns,
Prussian Blue in hue,
It transmutes,
Multiplies its powers to the nth degree,
Smothering us quickly
As we reach out to grasp
At least one breath.

Its guise changes
With the seasons.
Hapless months go by
And bring new names
To nothing times.
In each age, we are alone,
Defying poets.
Captured periwinkle tries
To break the spell.
While vines deny its effort.

Delicate flowers,
Bridesmaids dresses,
And the Moon, twice full
In the month’s rotation
Could have kept us
Stealing the tides,
It sealed our fate
With a gasp.