I see you seeing me. I know you are a flourishing gift. Do you know what I am? What we could be… (for each other)? You, growing through brick walls and urban filth. Me, knowing what it is to be… (you and me). We are weirds of nature, abloom.

a wild thing—
city grown daisy,
me with you

I see you seeing me, but know not what you are… until you grow deeper in me. You see, a sprouting thing rarely shows its true face. Not before trust takes root. Not before desire grows into more. Never (not ever) before two taste what they could be, abloom.

a fresh leaf
always needs sunlight,
I want you

You see me seeing you. My fingertips reach for your extended hand. My wicked grin matches your knowing smile. We touch. We feel. We tremble. We are, abloom…

touch a bloom,
and feel his wilds spring
as you fall

a wee note…
– While keying random thoughts on my phone, I accidentally typed “abloom”. When autocorrect didn’t show its disdain, I flew to the dictionary (I knew the word had to do with blooming, but I wanted specifics). The dictionary said abloom means “in bloom; blossoming; flowering”. I like it… a lot. Naturally, I had to feed it to a poem (or three).
– Linked to dVerse ~ Open Link Night 200

Our Memory Remains (or should)

Let’s celebrate freedom, you say. And I rage and rage and rage… and wail. I reach for the word—free—and the fingertips of my left hand almost touch the fringes of a cloak… before the torn fabric of how things should be gets lost in mayhem made of your wind and the reality storming over the unlucky many.

Let’s feast, you say, firework the heavens for a night. Yester-days are gone, grab today. And I search and search and search… and weep. I reach for answers in your eyes, and see that time suppressed terrors and common sense, but memory remains.

freedom is real
only when enjoyed by all,
let us remember

the wee notes…
– This haibun was partly inspired by this blackout poem.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.