Wild Carrot

Some days hope
feels like the
dirtiest of words.
Like the word that
will bring the most
sorrow of all possible
So I keep quiet
not letting it overtake me
or wriggle its way deep inside.
It’s so easy to mistake
a simple feeling
for a complex intuition.
To see meaning
when there
is none.
From here I can
see how each
painful step
was necessary
and how the timing
was oddly
As if there had been
a plan all along.
I think tonight I will
bake some bread
with the flavor of
wild carrot.

Saying please

As the light fades and the moon rises
I sit in my precious and fleeting solitude.

There is a tint of color
that catches my eye.

Frost will come
and cover us
like nightfall.
Green hues cover
and reflect the color
from the trees.
All we want is someone to remember.

Next year on a Thursday in June
I will take a long walk and will meet
a new soul who still believes that
bringing a miracle is just as simple
as having hope and saying please.


It was beautiful out,
blue skied with the sun shining,
on the day we did the planting.

It was the 13th too.
Not Friday, but a Monday,
surely a good omen.

Omens are important at times like these.

So is the rock I have been carrying in my left pocket,
near to my middle and all the important parts.
It’s the loveliest shade of green,
like a green light of hope
guiding my way.

Two days later comes a blessed rain
watering all that has been planted.

The rain makes everything
look and taste greener.