House of Heart

I know it is too soonto prune but dried petals

wave provocatively fromneglected stems and here

among the famished flowerswood smoke conspires with the cold wind.

Parched tongues of starving birdspenetrate empty pistils

unwilling to wait forsummer’s sweet nectar.

Spidery veins of weeds are rippedwithout mercy

from the cracked teeth of winters earth.

Thorns scar the shoots and nick bleeding fingers

tugging relentlessly at resisting roots.

I know it it is too earlyto dream of June colors

or a deep purple cloud burst on a sunny day.


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