our parking strip, neglected, grows up wild, every season shows a fresh new face, diverse and course, ’til when it’s at it’s lushest it’s razed to dirt. the neighbors cultivate their little patch, and season after season pluck the weeds between the cared-for plants they planted. year-round, a pleasant place. and there you go, my […]
wave after wave of spring rain. nothing that’s written makes love easier.
something holds the trees as spring’s first storm sends them swaying. feet at shoulder width.
how did i fail to notice that you were on my nightstand, the night you stepped into the spring? never having left my village home, pictures of far-off lands inform my dreams.
after years of drought, weeds and flowers both look sweet. pause, and reassess.