Poetry from The Well

Wind Envy

I’m haunted by the sight

of the trees boasting blossoms

baby pink and white

twisting against a patch of sky

crowded with clouds

racing one another nowhere.


On this side of the window

the air is still except for sounds

of bored coughs and sighs.


The sun streams in

gleaming against

the grainy blue carpet

but the wind stays outside

frenzied and free.


Poetry from The Well


Pull the weeds who are pulling at

your taffy heart.

Sink into the damp garden and

bow to your roses.

Rain and wind will deliver more

thirsty wildflowers

ready to lick the blood

off your pricked fingers.

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

All of my friends

glitter with dew.