Flowers on rooftops. Sold by stalks or bunches or barrels.
Rooftops, where beginning see new light.
Sunsets are given a second chance.
Sun rises sweep you off your feet.

Until you are tumbling towards oblivion.
Falling for someone or no one,
Someone will still catch you,
For no one is truly absent on a rooftop.

Rooftops are shelters.
Covering our small material lives,
That reflect poorly our selves.
No living room can represent a person’s soul.
Our drive, our motivation our passion.
What we believe we are underneath.

Without rooftops snow would drift against our bedsides.
Without rooftops stars would tell the stories of our dreams.
They would burn away the acid that disappoints us.
That keeps us from laughing.
We’d be filled with starlight, snowflakes, flowers.

Flowers are sold on rooftops because,
Perspective is shifted up there.
Ground is still down but farther down.
We are as tall as skyscrapers.
Gravity makes our knees tremble.
Tempting that leap of faith.

Flowers deserve a second perspective –chance.
How many times have you counted the petals on a dandelion?
Or asked a lily if he loves you?
Why send a rose when you have orchids?

Rooftops are surreal.
Ordinary cannot but attained that close to the clouds.
The balance between flight,
And gravity’s relentless pull keeps a mind awake, -alive.

Rooftops are where flowers should be sold.
No cars, cement or money.
No stereotype, or donuts or guns.

Anyone buying flowers  
Is looking for a second chance.
Is hoping for magic.
Waiting for lightening to strike him,
In the same place twice.