Stolen Flowers
Stolen Flowers
We were in a place where nothing was the right thing to say. We were stolen flowers from gardens along the moon-bright bay. You were in the street where nowhere was the right place to be. Just sailors with no more of the world to see. Morning finds your face. Brown butterflies cross the bay.




I often find that brevity asks more of the reader than abundance. This poem trusts silence to carry part of its meaning, and I enjoyed that quiet confidence. Thank you for sharing.
As her aqua eyes follow their flight…