the morning
thrust upon the earth
and the tiny flowers, female,
with their aspirations of love,
littering the streets with
purity and blood amongst
the male city surrounding
their delicate, strong, natural
heads.
i find the river flows to the ocean
and the flowers fall into the gutters
and find their way back when the city
has become a memory in their absence
and the air too rough to swallow.
find me here in the gutter, where you left
me, swimming to the creator, mending
my petals and dreams, resting again
with the flowers that were left by your
counterparts last Spring.
