As my roses are in bloom the cedar box is locked away
with safely kept dreams.
The Light hits the window’s pane shattering forever
into pieces illuminated thoughts; my trembling fingers
touching the floor’s veins — long sturdy planks braver
than my bones, my spine and all pain.
Did you know that when the proud Moon rises from the
descending heights of waning daylight my roses are still
within their magnificent bloom?
And my hands are without purchase for the South spins
and North is beyond my reach.
But my roses are in bloom and my dreams safely kept.
:: 10-15-2018 ::