I see your thoughts.

You reach inside them
readjust
a carnation.

A peony.

You add (from where?)
some baby's-breaths
with your long fingers
which are themselves
anemone.

You place the bouquet on the table
between us.

Light blows your face—wakes
the butterfly of your smile.

It crosses the air
the bouquet
me
my dream.

You are so wonderfully outside me.

__

East on central September 14,, 2026