Poem

Standing like mushrooms in the rain

Toads on bathroom floors

Parachuters fall like a dandelion’s bliss

Bruises turn to flesh

Stars begin to sing

Butterflies fly past like a summer lovers’ fling

No one turns to speak

No one is there to hear

I close my eyes and wait

But what is there to fear?

Flowers that whisper, then begin to shed

Whatever is the truth has already been said

Sent to Publishers at The New Yorker, The New England Review, The Poetry Society, and The Harvard Review. Unfortunately, The Poetry Review has been unable to include my publication.