thistledown

Not wavering or drowning
floating, flickering,
feathery little women fall;
twinkling, glimmering,
like the light of candles growing faint;
wink and blink
in the harsh day light,
don’t fly too close to the sun.
Quivering, shivering,
coming in to land,
on my palm, in my lashes,
softly stroking my face –
with your trembling down.
Growing weaker, faltering,
fluttering to the ground..