dear
bumblebee–
you follow
me..
but flower i
am not,
though my scent
be raw &
sweet,
i don’t pose
pretty in
a pot.
shadow work
sorrow holds her
heartstrings..
and
he tugs
like they’re
unbreakable things,
they’ve got so
little give,
but she
has
a fighter’s
will to
live
emptied
of conversation-
i listen to
efforts
to keep up with
neighbors,
to get the last
word in,
but truth is that
i too
just wish to
be seen.
a snow owl
with ice
eyes,
a treetop ‘neath
ash skies,
ol’ smoke stacks
inhaling
the sharp
air..
impaling.
photos with
smudges..
of ghosts holding
grudges–
and scribbled on
behind
is a date
in bold black
that we can’t
take back.
softened thoughts
in genteel
mind,
a smoker’s cough,
but more
refined,
no cage
bars..
to
hide behind–
in light of day,
can’t help but shine.
a shutter
click-
grins flashed
thick,
with teeth as
white
as
screen’s too
bright!
was that wave
aimed at
me..
or someone
behind?
held the door out
of pity
or
just to look
kind?
offered help for
the thank
you
or just to give
blind?
i’d be grateful, were i
in the right state
of mind.
a wave to packed bus
rushing
away,
the lovelorn
shuffle
home..
to crash on
couch..
to revisit the
hours..
to loosen my
belt-
and smell summer
flowers.
fresh cut
smell
on slipping
day,
holding
on..
only to watch
it fade,
deep gut
swell,
the night grows
bare
little left to do
but stare.
hands in the garden 
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