The Spaces Between Seconds

I think of you in the spaces between seconds
And when the night bleeds into day;
At the source of every glowing ember.

I sit in the palm of your hand
And wrap myself in your voice;
The wind whistles sweetly,
Carrying a tune so perfect and clear,
Lifting the fallen leaves into a swirling amber song.

A glistening pearl imperfect,
Still beautiful as it shines;
When behold with its parentage, what competes?
The iridescent mother cured it so,
Nothing but all that is wickedly concealed away,
It suddenly becomes its glory.

A crimson bloom beside the bay,
Frozen over in a case of glass;
The tree stands tall the sun shines,
Freeing quaking leaves.

Proud of the strong roots;
Kindly bearing silver apples;
A brittle bark shields from the storm
And assists the child in harvesting the fruit,
Who sells the silver for a little gift;
Not much, but just enough.

And later as the swimmer burns,
Yellow and crumbling;
Faded letters on wrinkled parchment,
Shown to the light, forgotten for years
On a wall in some old home;
Reminiscent of tulip petals
In some sprinkled dewey grass;
Forever merry spring
Until they're all dead and dying.