Where the Wildflowers Grow

I live where the wildflowers grow
Between the lots in two straight rows
Where an old truck used to bed and lay
Rumble-wake and leave for the day

I live where the paper boats sway
Along the oily slick of a heat-washed quay
Where traffic notices drift like orange preservers
Down the gutter beneath iron girders

My home is the home of robins and sparrows
Darting between the dark and narrow
Corners of scaffolds and geranium bowls
Scraping crumbs around human soles
Hurrying, here and there
Never quite slow or unaware
Of a grime-proud, asphalt-choked weed insistent
On making a beautiful life
Anywhere, persistent.

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Origami

Monochrome orchid
Scent of nectar and haze
Paper curlicues

May Showers

After summer rain
Dew on a pink peony
Rejuvenation

Yellow Summer

Buttercup yellow
Brings to mind hot summer days
Your hand against my hairline
And secret smiles
Pink lemonade

Flowers for Mom

Chrysanthemums for mum
With purple hearts edged in white;
An surprise deeper than the surface.

Seasonal

On the last day of April
The cherry trees besides my home
Have passed the height of their blooming season
And boughs have grown weary with their
Pinkish charges which now litter the streets.
Finding no delight in the windfall
I turn my eyes upon the crabapple instead —
Blossoms of white flesh
Split ripe from magenta casings —
And fool myself into thinking
Of the impermanence of death.

Funeral Flower

The heart of a chrysanthemum
Is a gold sun that promises life
Even as it laments the departed

Red Gerberas

At the storefront
a bunch of red flowers
large-faced and bold
but I, too meek
to inquire after their names.

Granted

In a vase from a paramour,
freshly cut and placed in nutrient water,
a woman admires her roses.

Outside the window,
her ignored magnolia tree
blooms for yet another spring.

Lips

Dreaming of tulips
Pressing kisses to the sky
Red adoration