Hoist

I am a spectrum of emotion. What reason can I give as I count the rose petals to your door? It's not easy to find the right words. Today I registered yellow; passed through a world that stood still, that moved too fast to even notice a tribute spelled out in garish chrysanthemums. Fresh, new paint marking out instructions; would the pedestrian notice if I commandeered the machine and wrote: Stop! I love you. Was I comforted that he had a tartan scarf to keep him warm? A familiar disquiet and a shocking exit were all that remained for his time. And life is tied securely at both ends; but when the shrill wind blows I’d like to think that the halyard can still dance between cleat and flag.