Sometimes, I Bring You Flowers

i pick fresh flowers
from love’s garden
gather them in the heart’s apron
and lay them near your pillow
so when you wake
you can bathe
in the scent
of love’s essence


Martyred Heart

born in the depths
of a shattered heart
raised in the belly
sadness rises
flooding brimming lids
seeps through pores
slipping quietly into the ink
on the floor
on the page
on the hearts
of passersby
who pause
to offer
a silent prayer
for a martyred

*For Nandita. May your swords strengthen in the fire of your passion and the chrysanthemums whither to make way for white heather.