in her secret, secure moments
she loses the bad parts of every story
she’s too sensitive to bear the weight
of so many damaged trees
she pities the torn leaf
crying to find its way home
she is child, chilled, children
a scrolled up adult
she feels them all
as if she carries the soul
of the world
on her slim shoulders


she will remember the gold wheat
shining fields of wildflower, baby blue
how her daughter’s heavy braid
folds into the landscape
how silk strands of sun
form a deft and easy weave
how many times she touched her heart
wondering if it could be, still beating
she knows she can’t regret
what she can’t remember
so better not, a banishment
of tears, no trespassing aloud


it was true
she became a butterfly
before she entered as a caterpillar
before she dangled in that unbroken cocoon
she was always
it only seems to happen this way
inside this tiny seed
a morning glory is already opening
its wide blue eye
green fronds
stretching skyward