Light from a prism
These petal’d flo’ers grow
Breath in weighty breaths
Versicolor whispers that quietly follow.
They step alongside you
And spring in veneration
In the alluring prints you left behind,
Like groves from every indentation.
But, it’s the same
Where her footfall goes
--Abreast the creekline
--In grassy seas,
--On the concrete
--In the seconds that pass by me.
I so want,
But one flower
To fill up, reserved for that one fair.
Still, though I grab
For my partnered hand,
Thieves on breezes steal them away
Wilt, as I pluck
Flowers from the footpath
And look ahead
To see no flowers
Wilting nor even dead.