On a bridge,
that makes the gap
in your mind
a lot smaller
than they should
see fit,
there is a
flower pot,
which holds a small
crocus.
Every time I look
at this crocus,
I think of your eyes
unfolding in the early
hours of dawn.
And how, in the beginning,
there was a blazing pink,
and a soft lilac,
with edges of sienna,
that separately
would have been hideous.
But with a blinding gold,
a blazing Indian Yellow,
and the flash of veins,
becomes a beautiful sunrise.
~Hammeh
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