Love comes quietly
Love comes quietly
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way.

The Flower
I think I grow tensions
like flowers
in a wood where
nobody goes.

Each wound is perfect,
encloses itself in a tiny
imperceptible blossom,
making pain.

Pain is a flower like that one,
like this one,
like that one,
like this one.

1 comment:

  1. that first poem is so lovely hills. thanks for coming to dinner the other night...keep me posted on your schedule in Cali.