Tyson West
Lost Lent
(Ottava Rima)
Strange hope congeals around the color blue
March sky celeste cuts jet stream vortex grey.
The broken robin eggs mean nestlings flew.
A slash of hyacinth in full array
belies the dogma only green grows true.
Her cornflower eyes closed that April day.
I mourned and mused with paschal fresh palm frond
will we dye azure in the great beyond?
Bio
Tyson West has published speculative fiction and poetry in free verse, form verse and haiku distilled from his mystical relationship with noxious weeds and magpies in Eastern Washington. He has no plans to quit his day job in real estate.