​Three Roses

1

My mother’s rose is truth,
elaborately thorned,
pricks those who bend,
bleeds those who break.

2

Tropicana rose 
blushing as if embarrassed,
a flamingo 
among the birds of paradise,
introvert
among the naked.

3

Climbing tea rose
common as a crowded street
a choked voice
with a thousand songs,
blossoms risen as if for breath
slipped out of silk sheaths
into the sun’s glare and glamour,
creamy petals
and yellow-pollen pistils
dripping, tipping over
like a tongue tapping 
lips not quite ready
for conversation
and the sky which is.





Spring Villanelle

​
I’ll take my water with a homegrown lime,
scoop the mango salsa on chia chips,
and revel in this slow smooching of time.

Hummingbirds soar, entwined lovers that climb
the air live with festal suspended flips.
I’ll take my water with a homegrown lime.

The plum’s blossoming has reached to its prime.
Heavy bees have made inordinate trips
and revel in this slow smooching of time.

Spring comes and washes away winter’s grime
and words of love replace cynical quips.
I’ll take my water with a homegrown lime.

The sun sets like it committed a crime
and the fading yellow like honey drips
from spoons thick with the slow smooching of time.

Silence becomes you like an artful mime
and I am summoned by your glistened lips.
I’ll take my water with a homegrown lime
and revel in this slow smooching of time.





Clover


White spring clover enveloped our bodies.
Above our tongues entangled the rattlesnake 
grass bobbed, hived and blonde, dangling 

hovered like bumblebees stalled over stamens 
and pistils, and like expectant pollen
we looked skyward, still, and the grass,

as if knowing how fragile the pure thing is,
lingered over our perfect blossom, buzzing 
softly above, we languishing beneath.

​