quixoticand the pretty girl said it
only hurt when she
picked one.
-happy in the cold rain
because, even on bad days,
the mention of a rose's name
made her laugh.
-bathed in all the scents of folded flowers,
from first bud to last fragile memory
pressed in a book.
-mirrored sparkles in a drop of dew
clinging to a wild beauty
clinging to a garden wall.
-she said,
weren't we?
