My favorite flowers are Carnations


one for your boutonnière
or two weeks by
the convalescent’s bedside

you adorn me with
a showy rose

that withers
by the hour


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.

[Fiction] Angie’s Boot


Angie, who grew up with nothing, hoarded all that she could around her desert home. Her stretch of pale grass became an oasis: a refuge for small skittering legs and dormice in the dark. When her husband left her, she took his old work boot and filled it with rich dirt. The cacti flourished and bloomed in their new pot. Six months later, she looked again at the shoe and it was only the flowers that she saw.

Daffodil on a Hill


Yellow daffodil lonesome on its hill
Yet still each morning has the strength of will
To tilt a smile towards another solo friend
For camaraderie is but a moment’s hardship to lend
To a sun that dances with its arms around the air
Always joyful and heedless of the stares
Of those caustic lonesomes in twos or threes
Clutched to each other as if so desperately
Fighting to lose their own beautiful singularities.