Sunday, July 24, 2016

A rose isn't delicate

Neither is childhood.  My childhood brims with memories of the backyard.  I learned early-on that wild roses are delicate-looking but hardy and prolific.  Later I learned there's far less than 6 degrees of separation between a flower and a weed.  Alas, there wasn't a bench in my childhood backyard.  Life isn't perfect; though childhood is a layering of textures surprisingly hardy, robust & delicate.  Quite the mix.  Just what I aim for in a meal.  And a poem.


  1. Metrix

    ideas without paper have nowhere to go
    exaction multiplies this resolution

    cycles of certainty easily blown
    off course limitations cast off their discourse

    oh love! they concentrate with all their pigments

    Cycles and diameters as she wanders the fields--engaging, releasing
    the scent of the flowers she sees

    1994/2016 SF, CA