Roses Behind Closed Eyes


You ask me to tell you of the roses in my garden
Instead of colors or the sunlight
I ask you to close your eyes so I can whisper
Of the heady scent that lines my driveway
The crunch of gravel the only sound
As petals brush across bare shoulders
You ask me to tell you of the roses in my garden;
They’ve overgrown like a runaway dream.


Planning for Time

Along the path back
I met two hikers
a man and a woman
hand in hand
with two IVs dangling
from their free arms.

I spoke with them about the climb.
Satisfied, they turned to each other.

The woman, who called herself Loso
was impatient to reach the top
to see the sun rise.

I had not seen it myself
but it would take far longer —
more than the 15 minutes
she thought it took
to reach the peak.

The sky was already lightening.
Sunrise had come and gone
while we conversed;
now it was white.

Only I noticed.

I apologized for how long
I had kept them,
not feeling sorry for
the extra minutes that wouldn’t
have made a difference.

I was sorry that
it was too late —

They hurried off.

Writer’s Note: This was an actual dream I had two days ago.



A frustrated architect
With frustrated means
Built a small yellow hut on the sand
Where the sun beamed warmly
And the tides swelled gradually
But the days grew dark
And monsoon rains pelted
Swallowed and razed
That tiny dream that stood
Like an instant in a lifetime
But the architect was content
That his prototype could be realized
And searched for another place
To start his true endeavor.