She’s tender,

like rose petals in rain

before sun and weather draw

stalks rigid toward a heaven

filled with wonder and fear

of what lies beyond,

of then and now as small hands

trace feathery lines across his tired brow.

Trembling when confronted

with too many uncertainties,

taking comfort in verdant petioles

and azure heavens, seeds and soil

and lolling tongues of dogs.

image: Bela Johnson 2013