Sitting at a coffee shop—

Downtown New York;

Spring breeze blows rustling leaves

On the faded pavement.


Fresh flowers—stacks of roses—

Sit in green buckets

Filling the air with the sweet scent

Of home and gardens.


My bleeding pen scratches

Across cream colored pages

Creating worlds, memories—



Harsh winds and spring showers

May come tomorrow—but

Right now that doesn’t

Matter. I am living here


Not among the broiling

Clouds of fear and

Could be.


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