In Flagstaff’s hush of passing days,
He moves mid-step, half flesh, half sign,
A skull drawn light upon his face,
Death borrowing a mortal line.
A crown of blooms, a lifted phone,
The living world still calls him near;
Between the laugh, the bone, the tone,
He walks where joy and ending peer.
So gardens keep what crowds forget:
That life, well held, is brief, complete
A dance inked once, not finished yet,
Then gone, like footprints in the street.
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Nice
ReplyDeleteFull face of makeup and a flower crown, way to go, dude!
ReplyDelete...stirking a pose.
ReplyDeleteHe's lost track of the parade!
ReplyDeleteJoyful atmosphere on that garden.
ReplyDeleteHappily chatting on the phone. What's the other guy up to, at first I thought he was picking his nose!!
ReplyDeleteS'ha quedat entre el ritual i la modernitat.
ReplyDeleteSalutacions!
Ese hombre no tiene problema ninguno en caminar decidido con la cara decorada.
ReplyDeleteAbrazo
Well done as always.
ReplyDeleteThank you for joining the Awww Mondays Blog Hop.
Have a fabulous Awww Monday and week. ☺
He looks like he is about to start dancing. Must be a Day of the Dead festival in the park.
ReplyDeleteArrested development.
ReplyDeleteHas atrapat un bon moment precís de vida !. On la fantasia d'un maquillatge ens pot fer recordar el fràgil moment de la mateixa vida, en que tot és fugaç ! : )
ReplyDeleteSalut !!.
well captured
ReplyDeleteGorgeous words: "That life, well held, is brief, complete A dance inked once, not finished yet,Then gone, like footprints in the street."
ReplyDelete