loose threads

back to the saffron field where i planted the memories
of moments that never were
all the sweet soliloquies under waxing moons
temperate souls orbiting a sun of rusted linens

Can’t really provide any background or context to this, other than I wrote it after a day spent at the hospital with someone. I was decompressing from the day, and liked the saffron field image. What’s a sun of rusted linens? No clue. But I still like it.