He stood, arrogantly at the front of the chapel. It was an unlikely place to RELAY a challenge, but he was an unusual man. There was an edge of FROST around his every word. SHORN of any pretense of making peace, the cold steely words were as sharp as the SWORD that hung by his side. 

Georg’ann

Dots of burnt sienna 
pollen STAIN my dress. 
Brushed against giant’s bouquet 
of Casablanca Lily wired up
the back stoop. Taller than me. Ridiculously abundant blossoms. Heady scent rides the air
like coy waves playing 
along the SHORE, 
coming toward, then gone. 
In the dark fireflies dance. 
Also here, then not. 
Child moves through yard
with a lighted plastic SWORD. 
In the dark, such sweetness.

Heather