February
After endless
hibernation
on the windowsill,
the orchid blooms—
embroidered purple stitches
up and down
a slender stem.
Outside, snow
melts midair
to rain.
Abbreviated month.
Every kind of weather.
After endless
hibernation
on the windowsill,
the orchid blooms—
embroidered purple stitches
up and down
a slender stem.
Outside, snow
melts midair
to rain.
Abbreviated month.
Every kind of weather.
The flower in every ♥… is the Forget-Me-Not by Vol-au-Vent
Untitled by *Cyrus`*
Roberto Cacciapaglia | Tema Celeste
from Quarto Tempo (2007)
I’m working on my poems and working with
my fingers not my head. Because my fingers
are the farthest stretching things from me.
Look at the tree. Like its longest branch
I touch the evening’s quiet breathing. Sounds
of rain. The crackling heat from other trees.
The tree points everywhere. The branches can’t
reach to their roots though. Growing longer they
grow weaker also. Can’t make use of water.
Rain falls. But I’m working with these farthest stretching
things from me. Along my fingertips bare shoots
of days then years unfurl in the cold air.
shining by the69th
K. K. by Roman Krikheli
not the one by Tom Kondrat