There Was a Flower

in a bed
of stone, blooming
like a river
flowing, never
still & always

home. There was
a whippoorwill
calling 'cross the night 'neath
a starless sky--a lonesome
sound like a broken
swing, repeating its mystical

sigh. I place you
now in the hands of
love where
g-d's bright beauty lies;
the whippoorwill drops from its tree,
lifts its wings

& flies.
____________________________

Also see: What Doesn't Kill Us