A full-blown
salmon-colored
rose
at the end of its
long, thin stem
is the only lampthis morning;
a blend
of anger and longing—resentment—
having nowhere to go,
persists.*
“Hitch your wagon
to a star,”the man said.
Anything that burns.
A full-blown
salmon-colored
rose
at the end of its
long, thin stem
is the only lampthis morning;
a blend
of anger and longing—resentment—
having nowhere to go,
persists.*
“Hitch your wagon
to a star,”the man said.
Anything that burns.
Give the gift they’ll open all year.
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