short gambler, slight of breath and hand
is her expertise
Irises rise when she walks by
she never sings or dances goodbye
she understands the art of presentation
her verbs land everywhere
she bends down and when she rises
there, a tulip writhes in her eyes
it waits, silent
for the garden to gain my mass

I adore this poem, Sweetie. There is so much to envision, even more to imagine, yet your words paint a perfect picture, as well. Good luck in the contest.


6 old applause
