white violas

White violas
by a field of crucifers
immemorial flowering,
white from the beginning
of the world.
How many seasons
of drifted snow
blossom
upon the footless path?
How many wandered
beyond hope or reason,
by circumstance or will
of a lifetime
passed?
i cannot say
nor know
what i have lost tonight
or given away,
it was maybe
just something
too precious
for my too
human hands.

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