(Sorry for the lack of poems lately, I was away and then sick. But this is no excuse for not infusing one's life with poetry. So here is this short and sweet tidbit to ease us all back into the world of words...)
I can hardly stand the streets
lain under dusk
on a too-cool April evening.
Blooms suspend in the trees
but an East River breeze
gives me goosebumps.
My insides, grainy and worn
from turbulent times
feel as delicate as these
white and pink petals.
We all crave more warmth.
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