lines that breathe, words that perfume the ear….prose poetry!
My chrysanthemum/daisy/buttercup bouquet in a shoebox is a love poem. I open it for you, smiling, but you see only the yellows, not the asters that are my eyes. I sing dandelion seeds, each note touching your face. You brush it away, this music that is felt, that tickles, that tangles in your hair. I bring you violets and call them haiku.
Reflections 