Rosaria Art

Flowers laze her nape
along star beacons
with butterfly guides
to the small
where Tigger and Winnie play
as for Christopher Robin to smile
or blush
in soft blue slatted light
out there unwelcome
but for the glow of a streetlight
redeemed
in the
flash drops of rain
tiny bulbs on the sill.

I hold my hand
slowly
in front of my eye
then the other
back
again
over

Between my fingers light lulls
the pane
in the comfort of rain
where the clock ticks slower
and these fingers are real.

My cheek warms at the art of her.

I’m alive.

sjf