NaPM April 05 2016

[cidermaid]

She is not there.
At dawn she blushed the grass
as she passed.  Pausing
under the aurora of dawn,
which dappled her downy skin;
she inhaled
a sample of oak scented air,
rich with light crushed greens.

She is not there.
Long before you arose,
She posed, framed
in a half-light halo.
Full daylight will soon
erase her imprint,
that lingers in the shadow
of your picture.