There is a early spring flower blooming in the late winter sun..
I think they call them indian paint brushes..
Its firey red pedals shined brighter than the late winter sun..
It was the only color we saw in the new green grasses..
Green grasses brought by a thunderstorm from a week ago..
There is a small hint of spring perfume in the late winter air..
We feel her pass through us every now and again..
We continue forward on our walk to no where..
We'll go as far as we want to..
We cross a bridge with a small stream running under it..
Although full of trash it still holds a majestic beauty under this now one star evening sky..
The stream is strong creating musical water notes and songs..
A cardinal bird follows alongside us from tree to tree..
His red feathers are the only thing that has surpassed the beauty of the lone beautiful indian paint brush we came across earlier..
The night is now kissing the day away..
Time to walk back..
We will let you know what we see..

There's always room in my pond
For a little fish like you.

Would it be correct to say that you are the only one I see?
And though my eyes work,
The vignette cannot be cured.
I cannot see,
But I have vision.
For you and only you,
My eyes seek.
I search,
Among crowds and static,
As if, also, your voice is the only one I can hear.
As if, as well, I may only smell your scent, a sweetness
And as if I can only sense you, feel your pulse beneath my own lips,
Taste you, from your mouth onto mine,
And understand you, better than I understand myself.
You are broken, as am I,
But flawed fruits yet prove themselves to be the sweetest.