flaxen strands at angles errant
dangle draped in fine translucence
lucid lines trace shapes ensconcing
winsome ways awash in whispers
all the almond’s fond azure
paragon of floret’s dew
sinuous tresses weaved in waters
worlds away from whence she watched
passive paramour of plight
plunging into astral pools
solitude that stings with piercing
as she sings her song of tears
pensively a passive pondering
wanders through the prism spire
spoken naught in uttered earnest
turning over tides of trine
Max, or Not 