Somewhere in the South China Sea,
where truth is carved in wood
and angels fly on buttresses
above a cloudy canopy,
the trees whittle a bird nest for the moon.
A sacred cradle without sway,
a bark and leaf cocoon,
but will the new egg be born too soon?
Choices loom like pillars.
Promises sprout like saplings in clay pots,
but will they make it to maturity or be pulled
up at the roots?
Each evening, the sea swallows the sun,
the biggest bloom in the botanical garden.
One gulp and it's taken,
by lapping waves
before the day is done.
Can we ever truly love something before it's gone,
before we fear we might forget?
Right or wrong, we could have heaven,
or at least an apogee
of understanding, before the moon sets.
©2025 | K. F. Hartless
Photography taken by me at the Sanctuary of Truth.
Florist “Have Heaven”
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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