STRENGTH AND STEMS
The flower rickshawed through her,
a water blossom yellow and strong
like a plank of wood, smooth and narrow,
a one by two, only true as if true
could ever be exact or honest
or even a deity worth dying for.
The stem of her body fluid and full,
her root work deep and philosophical
as if the voice of pain could ever be a flower,
the thick trunk of a tree, a nearby stream
bubbling over river rock, the carcasses
of the dead fish who swim there.
SHE WROTE HER DIALOGUE IN VERSE
She wrote her dialogue in verse,
her emails in near rhyme, her thoughts
as sonnets, haiku and ballads,
but her eyes could not hide her fear
of aversion, her lack of understanding
dissension, expressions of danger and fear,
the rising poem like the hunter’s moon,
deep and glowing from the depths
of the dark waters of night into midnight’s
rampage of nightmare, agonies, and terrors.