Behind the Garden Wall

I sit behind the garden wall
in an alcove, beside a solitary
rose bush, a single bud
blooming on the stem.

I sip from a crystal chalice -
only a few droplets, blood
red, wetly stain my tongue
and lips with yesterday.

A rill winds around,
bending between footsteps'
markings left in the dust
as dusk shrouds around.

A full moon climbs stairsteps
leading up to a purple night:
awakening me with a stark,
chilling breeze, fluttering.

A hush gasps fragrantly,
grasping the thornless stem
with intuitive fingers,
caressing my luminous flesh.

I emerge from a cocoon,
the chrysalis falls away,
as wings spread and tremble
my heart beyond tomorrow.