You have built a
makeshift home
for me in the palm
of your hand. It's
uneasy there but
I don't know how
to leave your
meadows and
skyscrapers. You
mostly keep me
stored in your front
shirt pocket, safe
from the wind and
rain, but sometimes
you pull me out
and whisper to me
that my flowers
look lovely, have
I been doing something
new with the
arrangement of my
porch, the sunlight
looks beautiful in my
hair, why don't I
get out more often?