White lace —

you were too gorgeous 

for my words to 

describe you. 

Sunburst petals —

you hide behind the light, 

begging for me

to understand

you burn very bright. 

Olive green stem —

our dreams press us

to believe in them

to see how they

disperse into the minds of others. 

Yet, as I catch strings of conversation — 

as if we are talking with the words

we spoon out of our 

alphabet soup —

I realize I am far from 

the only one.

The words

in our dreams 

seem so childlike,

yet they have always

believed in me and you —

why is it so hard to see them through? 

Even if a lily could survive the Everglades,

would I want it to suffer

in a climate 

that never nurtured it?