Rose Wash March Sky

A paint lab, energy
substation, master
space plan mapping
more than a backyard

newsroom—the day
gets done without
losing a square
foot of roof
garden produce. Someone will

still push the clock

ahead 32 hours
from now. Even urban
farmers need
space to dream.

Rhymes with Guile

To be remembered for this.  She’ll accept the evaporation 

of all other details in buckling concrete. 

Tree roots need somewhere to go.  The downturn 

confused with a bow arched toward rooftop wild 

flowers—it’s taken 

a lifetime to learn to let these curves 

cradle what they may.

Before Our First Kiss

We didn’t know. How
could we?  I could be 

in the midst 

of another halo
shadow over hours 

untold. Could be
at the nudge 

and pause as they ripen
inside a green house 

beneath a green roof.
His lips could be 

ready, and I would be unpainted 

and preoccupied
with this spot on a Formica 

table top. An imaginary island
in an imaginary sea.