This happy club.
This friendship of circle and line,
of sisters curled like flowers in cracks,
poised between sun and moon
with one light to read by and one
to understand:
how chapters of wonder are opened and closed
in turn;
how years run like naked sentences, ready
to flow forever, to speak past punctuation
and start again;
how no one dies when the clock strikes twelve-
its hands a compass needle, pointing north
to that home beyond sky.
So read on until words fall past your end
and bury each paragraph fondly in mind
then move to the next with eyes too hungry
for sight alone.
Reach for the flame of each flower gone,
for those petals kept in a pocket of heart.
Silver trophy winner
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