i’ve always loved
white roses- i cannot
explain the way
dew falls on curled petals
against dusky sweet-scented dawn
the smell of morning air, you know it
the silhouette against
gold and silver, shivering in
the brutal wind, i want
to cup my fingers around
the trembling blossom, yet
instead, i watch
patches of white clouds
unfurl into the winter
air, they disperse as if
they were
never there, i wonder
what happened to the
dew drops, that resided
on the silken streams
of life, who knows
perhaps they also
dispersed
as if they
were never there.