she stands
in ancient soil
without horizon;
counts clouds above
her amber face and
chases winds from
Cohen
to the sea.
her petals sway
to drops that beat
beneath an open
sky,
a field once
white with poppies
gathered close
for hollow heat
but nature turned-
it shifted her
with dreams
of cleaner warmth
to come
not promises
like those she
never spills herself,
[ as lightly as
her breath ]
but those that
speak of deeper grace
no matter
that she grows
so wild.
in truth her strength
abides within because
she is so free
to wait on a butterfly's
patience ...
but it was granted before
she ever asked.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
well, aside from the fact he is downright brilliant, and a hard working poet, he has the one song I love with my name in it.
