Droplets on a Windowsill by Leon B.

Child of mist and swirls of fog,

allow me but one moment to cradle you

in my weightless arms— now dense with love;

tarry, my child, for now I see

vast fields of daisies kissed by passing bees

and feel a breeze traverse my cheek

and smell the Earth’s new life among new soil

imbibing itself with Sky’s falling gifts—

I knew not the grace of this scene

until I blazed its trails myself,

and I wish now only to stay among this field;

but here there is no room, no board,

and no cradle for you, my ephemeral darling;

soon my trails will be rinsed away,

and the daisies soon may wilt—

but though my child is made of mist

and winding swirls of fog,

the condensation left behind

on the surfaces she touched

are sure to last forever more

as long as I don’t wipe it up.

Leon B. is a queer poet who writes freely to the whims of his heart and loves the craft for the beauty of it. He aspires to write and edit professionally in the future.