To write about a passing flower,

white petals swaying in the wind,

yellow core a bed for a bee

A birds nest waiting on an empty tree

It never seems complete

A crisp autumn wind stings the cheeks

Into a forest so deep to hide, retreat

As the fist clenches over the heart

A knot in the throat threatens to explode

Walls of paper falter with no fault

Still I do

I think of you.

-A.Garcia