Monday, February 25, 2013


Picture from a blog called Wind Blowing

I drive by some
until they exist
no more.

Who knows if I'll
have another season?

I pull over,
leave the door
hanging open,
gather those odd
chartreusy orbs

like the wildflowers
when I was in love,
running in the
ditch laughing,
arms full,
pollen on my nose.